A/N: Thank you for the reviews and favorites, it's really quite encouraging. For the record, finals are officially over, and I ACED them, so my updates should in theory come a lot sooner. (Just so you're all aware of how proud I am, I got solid A's on my college calculus, biology, English and US history finals. SO HAPPY.) So this chapter may be a little all over the place, and if it is, just forgive me- I'm ecstatic and a little scatter-brained at the moment.

King Edmund's POV

Edmund, in comparison to the object of his thoughts, did not sleep well that night. His mind would not stop thinking, and his head felt full to the point of bursting. And all of his mental energy was focused on one thing, one person. Alea. But why? The root of his turmoil was a simple question that he had not the answer for. Why her? He didn't know that she had been asking the very same question before falling asleep that night. But she wasn't thinking of him the way he was of her, that he knew. She couldn't be.

For some reason, his mind kept wandering back to one of two instances- those eyes, those jade-hued eyes that had stared right into him before she fled, before she tried to remove herself from this world, and that single moment where he'd been vulnerable before her, showed his emotion, and she hadn't laughed him off. He never opened himself up to others, not even his siblings. He was stoic and reserved, and sometimes could be considered aloof, but he had shown a piece of his heart to Alea that day, and he wasn't sure what the repercussions of that could be.

King Edmund was not the journaling type- indeed, no one here in Narnia had ever really even heard of the idea. They weren't the kind of people who wrote down their thoughts for personal use, at least not the ones he'd had experience with. But as he sat there, staring at the cold stone floor, the idea became a little more appealing. No. He didn't need to write his thoughts down for them to make sense. He needed to sleep. Yes, maybe that would straighten things out for him. If his mind would stop churning for a few minutes, long enough for him to become blissfully unaware, then perhaps things would be clearer in the morning

Climbing into his bed, he pulled the simple covers up to his chin, closing his eyes. Impermeable darkness surrounded him, paralyzing him, and Edmund slowly relaxed every muscle in his lean, toned body, trying to fall asleep before his mind caught up with what he was doing. And luckily for him, it worked, and he lost consciousness, falling into the deep abyss of dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Edmund awoke feeling refreshed, but unfortunately, his mind was no less productive. As soon as he opened his eyes, his brain assaulted him with tumbling cascades of images, words, and thoughts that all continued to be centric around Alea. Perhaps visiting her would do him some good, and clarify his feelings a bit. Sighing, the dark-haired king sat on the edge of his bed, reluctant to get up and start his day. Looking out the window, he realized that the sun had not yet truly risen, and there was barely any movement audible in the castle. So he was up early. Perhaps it would be for the better, give him more time to sort through his jumbled mess of thoughts, sift for the most important ones, the ones that would give him a clue as to what he was feeling. But, before he could take that any further, his stomach rumbled. It reminded him that he had not truly had a meal since Alea's attempt at self-harm. He had been worried, stressed, and guilty, and had not had a single thoughts for his own health.

Another sigh escaped his lips, and the king rose to his feet, running his hand through his mussed brown hair. Perhaps some cleaning up was in order. One thing Edmund did miss from back in England was the idea of a shower- they didn't have running water here, and it made cleaning up rather difficult unless one wanted to stand underneath a waterfall. But, they all made do with what was offered here, so Edmund found the bucket of water that was faithfully refilled each day by various castle staff, and the bar of soap and the towel that sat next to it. Surely there was a more convenient way to do this, but Edmund was rather unfocused, so he simply dunked his head into the wide-mouthed bucket, dousing his hair completely in water. He scrubbed quickly, removing any signs of dirt or grease, and dried it with the towel. Since it was not too long, unlike Peter's, it dried fairly quickly, and was almost completely dry by the time Edmund finished scrubbing his bare torso.

He dried himself quickly with the towel, pleased to see that he had managed to keep the floor from getting wet, and crossed to his wardrobe. Normally Edmund didn't give a damn what he wore, and all his clothes were conservative and simple. He was the polar opposite of his brother, who enjoyed clothing himself in gaudy and extravagant outfits that were of more use as decoration than actual apparel. But, that was beside the point. Edmund pulled on some simple, monochromatic clothes from his wardrobe, not really looking at what he'd chosen. As he pulled on his shoes, he wondered what Alea had seen that had made her go crazy. It had come out of what seemed like nowhere- she had been perfectly fine the evening before, if a little overwhelmed. Perhaps her grief had been very well hidden.

Unconsciously shrugging his shoulders, he ran his fingers through his hair again, which was now completely dry, and grabbed his sword, buckling it around his waist. He never went anywhere without it, purely out of habit. As he left his room, he glanced back at the window- the sun had hardly moved. Breakfast would be nowhere near ready, it was too early for that. He would make his own. The king was on his way down to the kitchen when a member of the castle staff stopped him.

"Your Majesty, this is for you." The young man handed him a plate of food, which was still warm. Edmund raised an eyebrow, confused. How had they known he was already up? Breakfast would not start for another hour, at least. "The cook was on her way down to the kitchen when she heard you get up, and thought you might be hungry." A gentle smile raised the corners of the king's lips, and he nodded his head to the man.

"Thank her for me, and you as well. It is much appreciated," Edmund replied, his expression lightening. Perhaps this day would not go as poorly as he thought it would. The man retreated with a bow, swiftly disappearing into the maze that was the castle corridors. Surprised at how ravenous he was, Edmund quickly consumed everything on the plate, inhaling it like he hadn't eaten in days. Well, he hadn't. The food tasted so good, he wasn't really watching where he was going, and he was a little surprised when he realized that he was already almost back to the hall where his rooms were, along with Alea's. Hers would be empty, he guessed, since she was being kept in the hospital wing of the castle, and the urge to enter her rooms was pressing strongly against his will, pulling him, tugging him. He gave in without much of a fight, leaving his plate on the floor outside his room.

When he entered, everything looked normal. The way it had when he had found her on the floor, and even before that. The front room was neat as ever, and nothing was out of place at a first glance. But when Edmund looked closer, he saw the dark red stain on the stone that crept out from the bedroom door- barely an inch, but still there. With a deep breath, he walked over to the oaken door, footsteps silent on the stone, and opened it. The stain grew larger now, and covered several feet of stone in a layer of dark red. A sharp pang ran through him. The doctor had been right, she had lost a lot of blood. More than he'd realized.

The noise of soft footsteps behind him startled Edmund, and he spun around, hand on the hilt of his sword, eyes wide as a frightened rabbit's. He was ashamed to be caught in someone else's rooms, but when he realized who it was that had caught him, his face flushed just enough to be noticeable. It was Alea.

Clothed in a simple dove-gray dress, the sleeves stopped at her elbows, exposing the white bandages that wrapped both wrists. Her fire-red hair was loose, tumbling in curls down to the slim curve of her waist. She looked beautiful, but also surprised to see him there. Alea was supporting herself against the wall, and her face was even paler than usual, which was saying something considering the natural pallor of her skin.

"I'm so sorry, I shouldn't be here," Edmund began, heat still rising to his cheeks, turning them a slight shade of pink. He couldn't stop looking at her, though, at her eyes. They held his in a strange way, and they looked so different than they had before. Still full of sadness and loss, but they seemed almost resigned to her fate now. Less desperate, overwhelmed. Different.

"No, it's okay," she said in a soft voice, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I don't mind." Edmund felt silly now, like a young schoolboy caught cheating on a test. But she wasn't angry at him. Why not?

"I'll leave if you want," he stuttered, trying not to shrink away from her. She didn't seem to realize the effect she was having on him, and remained where she was for a moment, biting her lower lip before walking toward him, into her bedroom. Before she took more than a few steps, though, her face drained of color, and she reached out to support herself on the doorframe, but it was too far away.

Edmund saw her beginning to lose balance, and immediately reached out, catching her with his arm, keeping her upright. As soon as his skin touched hers, he felt the heat of their contact, like a searing flame racing up and down his nerves, burning to his brain. Her skin, cool and soft to the touch, felt divine against the slightly rougher work-hardened texture of his own calloused palm. Their eyes met for the second time, and everything was still for a moment as they stared at each other, both their gazes seeming to burn with flame, before they both pulled back, breaking the contact quickly. But Edmund's mind was reeling. What had passed between them when their eyes connected… he had no idea what it was, but it left his heart feeling like it had been set aflame.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, trying not to say anything that would make their situation any more awkward. "I didn't mean to-"

"I'm fine," she interrupted, steadying herself on the doorframe now that it was within reach. "I just got a little lightheaded. The doctor didn't want me up and moving this soon after losing that much blood, but I fought him for it." Edmund held back a sigh. They were both quite adept at avoiding the subject of what had just happened, and he found himself rather disappointed that it was over. He wanted to reach out, touch her face, her hair. To discover what her lips felt like against his- no! By Aslan, Peter was right. He couldn't let this happen. He could not be falling in love with this woman who, for all intents and purposes, could disappear the next day. He had built walls around his heart for a reason, and he'd be damned if this little woman had already found a crack in the stone.

"I should go," he said, avoiding her gaze. With a bow, he walked past her, his body and strides no longer loose and carefree. His tense demeanor was puzzling, he was sure, but perhaps she understood. Unable to help himself, he paused at the entry, looking back to see Alea right where he had left her, but this time with one hand pressed to her heart. He couldn't see her face, and it was probably a good thing. He left without another word.

As he closed the door behind him, his breath coming quickly, he leaned against it for a moment, mind still running circles around him. What had just happened? Edmund didn't know what to do. And, judging by what he'd seen before he left, neither did Alea.