Author's Note: Thanks to all the wonderful readers for your kind reviews and encouragement! They're really appreciated. And I'm glad you're enjoying the story. I have to say I'm enjoying writing it, as well.

I promised to have new chapters to post today, so here we go. Yay for weekends off! This one is a bit shorter than the other two, my apologies beforehand. The story's beginning to streamline itself, which makes it a bit of a challenge to break off into chapters. Nevertheless, enjoy!

Having a mind to just soak in wonderful warm bathwater and ruminate on previous events, namely those that had just occurred outside in the courtyard, Caspian was a bit chagrined indeed when General Telfonus strode briskly into his chambers, followed by Malcan, Caspian's valet. The king squawked indignantly but they ignored him, moving unerringly to their supposed duties.

Telfonus curtly examined the sword that'd been so casually tossed atop the bed and, seeing the dirt that had accumulated around the hilt and guard, frowned at the hurriedly splashing king.

"I didn't have time to clean it, Telfonus," Caspian retorted quickly, trying to stave off another of Telfonus' lectures. "Something about riding all night long, having to ford the still freezing river in the dead of night, getting two of the horses stuck in the mud at Beruna and coming home to find visitors on my doorstep, then being shoved up to my room like a naughty child."

Malcan, a thin wiry Telmarine who'd served as valet to Caspian's father, had immediately bustled to the royal wardrobe and begun riffling through garments, snorted quietly at the string of excuses. Telfonus glanced at the old man, but said nothing, merely took out a kerchief and began to wipe down the gleaming steel.

"I didn't say anything, Sire," he said calmly.

Caspian eyed him petulantly. "But you wanted to. I know you, Telfonus. No doubt you've been saving up a good tongue-lashing since early yesterday morning, my friend."

The general shrugged, still bent on his work. "Perhaps." He fixed his king with a stern eye. "You could surely use it, Your Majesty."

The king abruptly rose from the copper tub, snatching the offered robe Malcan offered. "I'm not a child, General. You've no need to treat me as one."

"Then cease behaving like one!" Telfonus finally burst out, tossing the sword back atop the bed. "You are King! Not some common urchin taken to task for skipping his lessons!" Telfonus began to pace, back and forth the length of the room.

"The men in this castle are loyal to your every word, Caspian," he said, pausing to nail the dripping monarch by eye. "They would die for you at a moment's notice. But they cannot protect you if you insist upon haring off alone to the very ends of the earth! Your actions are too rash, too erratic, my king." He took Caspian by the shoulders. "Please, for the sanity of all who serve you unswervingly, resist this impulsiveness! Think of those sworn to your safety. It is they who will pay the penalty should you come to harm!"

Caspian stared at his friend, then sighed and lowered his gaze. "I cannot help it, Telfonus," he replied slowly, moving towards the window and staring out at the land. "I desire more than to merely sit in council and discuss titles and treaties." The king closed his eyes to the breeze's gentle caress. "There is something about Narnia…it calls to me and I am helpless to resist it."

Turning back to his general, he said, "I cannot expect you to understand, Telfonus. But Narnia is a part of me now; I have to answer its call." Seeing the disappointment slowly writing itself in the Telfonus' dark eyes, Caspian placed a hand on his shoulder. "I would have you walk the woods with me, speak with the creatures there. Learn their magic, my friend! Listen to their songs, embrace their ways." He gave his friend a smile. "Then you too will understand."

Telfonus sighed, turning away and picking up the discarded sword once more. "Fanciful dreams, Caspian," he said tiredly. "Magic is a lovely idea, true, but it will not feed your people when they are hungry. It will not stave off the enemy when he comes to bombard your cities. I can only do what I can, my liege, but I will do it until death take me."

Caspian firmly reached out and clasped Telfonus' arm. "Then I pray that day a hundred years from now, Telfonus. For I need your guidance and your friendship."

"As you will, Sire," Telfonus replied, bowing his head solemnly.

Malcan finally spoke up, setting out more clothing. "Come, Majesty. Time to dry off and dress. Our guests are waiting."

Telfonus exited and Caspian began to dress, gently shoving Malcan's helping hands away. He could dress himself, for grief's sake! Finally clad in a rich gold tunic and fitted white breeches, he bent to pull on his boots, asking, "What do you think of our guests, Malcan?"

The old man tilted his head, turning from hanging up the king's dressing robe. "Well, sire, the glimpse I got was fairly brief, but I think I can safely say that the Princess Melissande was somewhat less than thrilled with Your Majesty's somewhat harried entrance." Malcan cocked an eyebrow at Caspian's hidden grin. "However," he went on blandly, "the lady did seem a bit impressed with General Telfonus at the outset."

Straightening his tunic, Caspian stared at his reflection in the mirror, eyebrows furrowing a bit. "Really. That's interesting," he replied absently. The face that looked back at him was familiar, but at the same time not. The same dark hair, parted in the middle and feathering down to broad shoulders, the same night-dark eyes, the right accentuated with a small scar that wound around from the eyebrow, the same nose, same mouth, supple and full, not stern and hard as his uncle's had been. He wasn't any taller, but it seemed so; despite the weight of the crown, Caspian still carried himself straight, head held high no matter what. Outdoor work had thickened him; Malcan had despaired over fitting new clothing but risen to the challenge regardless. Battle had hardened him, friendship had gilded him and loss had tempered him, molding him into a man with greatness of heart yet blessed with the love of his people and a magical wonder not soon shed.

Caspian gazed at his reflection, lost for a moment in the memories. "I am Caspian," he whispered, "and this is my kingdom. I will not dishonor it." Hearing Malcan gently clearing his throat, he plowed fingers through his still-damp hair and shook it from his face; there, ablutions done.

Malcan fetched his lord's sword and dagger; Caspian strapped them both around his hips and snagged his crown before striding for the door.

Alandra winced as she heard the crash from the next room. Apparently her sister was not in the best of moods. Unsurprising, since Melissande had doubtless expected to be introduced to a great warrior and king, decidedly not the Caspian who had greeted them in the courtyard.

Alandra's lady in waiting, a young blond girl named Annis, winced as she continued combing her lady's long red hair, remarking quietly, "Methinks the princess in a bit of a snit, Lady Alandra."

"I don't doubt it in the least, Annis," Alandra answered with a sigh. "I'm afraid she's had quite a shock, and we know how she reacts to those, unfortunately."

Annis stifled a chuckle, continuing with her experimentation of comb and brush. "Shall I curl it for you, dear? It would look very nice with your green and gold gown."

Alandra shrugged. "Do what you will. I care not for fripperies." She snorted, propping her elbows atop the dressing table, chin on her hands. "I simply can't wait until Tristan and I can get away from the castle and ride to the forest," she said somewhat wistfully. "Father will no doubt be closeted over business for ages and Melissande will be sulking about, making everyone miserable." She smiled at her maid in the mirror. "The perfect time to be absent."

Annis clucked her tongue. "Best you take care, m'lady. This is not our country. We don't know what dangers await 'round the bends."

"Oh, don't be such a goose, Annis," Alandra chided her gently, rising from the table and moving to the window, leaning over the stone sill. "Just look there." Gazing across the flat plain, she said, "Those trees are the beginnings of the Narnian forest, Annis! I've so wanted to see it!" Green eyes grew misty as she sighed in longing. "To see if the magic is indeed real, to touch it…to breathe it in deeply."

She spun from the window, twirling in a graceful pirouette as she hummed a melody, girlishly dancing about her room. "Come, Annis!" she said, grabbing her maid's hands and pulling her along. "The magic awaits us just over that plain!"

The two girls laughed together as they whirled and stepped, but Annis finally came to her senses and said, "Lady Alandra, come now. We must finish with you. Your father will be along soon."

With a small pout, Alandra did as requested, straightening her shift and resuming her seat before the mirror as Annis went back to work on her hair, combing and braiding, looping and curling.

Half an hour later, Alandra left her room and spied her brother lounging in the hallway. Tristan too was bathed, combed and dressed in his royal finery. He spied her and grinned, pushing off the wall and approaching with a brotherly bow.

"Annis did well, baby sister," he told her, touching a long wayward curl that drifted over her bare shoulder. He winked at her look. "And 'tis a good thing father made you suffer the dress fitting."

Alandra huffed and tried to swat at him, but he laughed and avoided her swipe. Still, no matter the headaches she'd suffered for this dress, it was still one of her favorites. Deep royal green with golden trim and overlay, the gown fell to her feet in rippling layers of fabric, its sleeves fitted yet leaving her shoulders bare. Small braided designs looped over the bodice, feathering down to her waist.

Instead of swatting at him again, Alandra gave him a toothy smile and curtsied prettily, rising to twirl around, letting the gown float around her. "Thank you, my brother," she addressed him smartly, a twinkle in her eye. "And you actually resemble a royal heir yourself, not some washed-ashore brigand."

"You're too kind, milady," Tristan grinned, straightening and preening a bit himself. Sandy hair actually combed, the prince was clad in pristine black breeches and boots, topped with a gold-trimmed white tunic and blue vest. Ceremonial sword and dagger were belted around his waist and his smile was reflected in bright grey eyes.

Just then, the door to the other chamber opened and Melissande flowed from within, unearthly beautiful. Her thick black hair was elaborately wreathed around her head; a small delicate silver tiara nestled atop the lush curls. Her gown was a stunning confection of ivory and silver; small pearls had been sewed into the bodice and train, creating a subtle whisper as she moved with angelic grace. But her siblings noted the barely perceptible frown between those glorious sky-blue eyes, which always signaled her displeasure.

Tristan, in true brotherly fashion, couldn't help but drawl, "Something the matter, dear sister?"

Alandra winced from the venom inherent in her sister's voice, even one as richly modulated as Melissande's. "If father thinks to marry me off to that…that… cretin, he is sorely mistaken!" The princess snarled, angrily jerking up her chin. "That boy doesn't even begin to have the makings of a king, let alone one worthy enough of my hand!"

Well used to her sister's erratic bouts of self-centeredness, Alandra refrained from sighing and rolling her eyes, thankful her brother just laughed it off and extended his arms to his two siblings.

"Come, ladies," he said jovially, "let us go thither and present our gloriousness to the Telmarine court, shall we?"

"Indeed, Tristan," Melissande snapped, savagely taking her brother's offered arm. "It seems we must teach these barbarians a few lessons in manners."

Now, Alandra did sigh and roll her eyes as she took Tristan's free arm. Somehow she doubted this was not going to go well, no matter what her father's plans for the new Telmarine king.

To be continued…