Apologies for the unforgivably long delay in updating this story. Uni and the fearsome writer's block got the better of me. Hopefully, I'll have some more chapters posted in the next couple of weeks.

Morning dew brushed her face as Susan rode away from the castle. The guards manning the gate hastened to draw the portcullis up. At the bridge, Susan paused, gently tugging Hera's leather reins, and gazed up at the towering castle.

It was an imposing structure, all pointy arches, roughly-hewn stones and sharp spires. She'd never told Caspian this, and certainly never saw the need to, but she disliked the castle. There was nothing gentle or welcoming about it. The structures were pressed together and spiraled spitefully upwards in a way that slowly began to suffocate her. It was pure Telmarine architecture at work, built for battle and absent any of the gentle curves and open spaces of Cair Paravel.

Good thing it was, Susan mused bitterly as she urged Hera into a fast gallop. Look what happened to Cair Paravel.

As she sped past, trees bowed their majestic trunks to her, respectfully lifting their branches so as to not accidentally snag her hair or her cloak. Some bearing flowers and fruits waved at her, offering their fresh produce that Hera was only too eager to accept. Susan laughed, slowing down enough to return their greetings and stuff some of the proffered apples and juicy peaches into her satchel. Petals rained over her, catching in her hair and stroking her skin tenderly with their softness. She could just barely pick up the soft singing in the wind as they rejoiced her return. Sister, they called her. Not Your Majesty, not Queen Susan. Sister.

A green dryad peeked out of her tree and shyly approached the Queen to place a crown of cherry blossoms on Susan's head.

Welcome home, sister. The dryad inclined her head, right hand pressed to her heart. Among centaurs, this was a somber gesture, a sign of death, of passing. But for the tree spirits, this was a sign of utmost respect and recognition of their own kind. Touched, Susan returned the gesture. Encouraged by their compatriot, other spirits began materializing out of the trees, bearing crowns made of the leaves or flowers of their trees. Susan watched with amusement as they carefully hung similar crowns on Hera's pointed ears and joined the dryads' peals of delighted laughter when Hera raised her head, looking for all the world like a regal queen accepting her citizens' gifts.

'We thought you wouldn't ever return,' an elm tree dryad whispered in her ear.

'I thought I'd never return, too!' she replied. 'But I'm back!' She raised her hands to the open sky above her. 'I'm back,' she shouted. She felt giddy, childlike, reverted to little Susan Pevensie who first stepped through the wardrobe. Little Susan Pevensie who never knew pain or heartbreak, who curled her dark hair so she'd look as beautiful as her mother, who lived inside the fairytales of her well-thumbed books and entertained herself with fantasies of handsome princes and towering castles.

Got what you wanted, didn't you? A nasty voice mocked her and Susan's grip on Hera's reins slipped. The horse threw her a glance and neighed, as if sensing Susan's distress.

No, you don't exist.

Then why are you responding to me?

'Come on, Hera,' Susan said aloud, ignoring the little snigger that rattled around her brain. 'Let's get on to Cair Paravel.'

'Can I help you with anything else, Your Majesty?' Tomas hovered uncertainly by his side as Caspian squinted into the distance where Susan had disappeared. His hands were clenched into fists by his side.

'Did she tell you where she's going, Tomas?'

'No. No, Your Majesty.' Ever loose with his words, Tomas followed the line of his intense gaze and the young man's strange grey eyes grew wistful. 'She is a lovely Queen, is she not?'

Caspian stared at the boy in disbelief. Had he really said that, and in his presence? His hackles rose as he recalled the friendly and familiar way Tomas had spoken to Susan, as Caspian watched them silently from the stable door. Hell, the boy had received more of Susan's smiles in those few moments than Caspian had in the past few days he'd been in her presence.

'And the younger Queen is just as lovely, like the damsels those troubadours sing about,' the boy continued dreamily, his features soft with unconcealed affection and oblivious to his King's presence.

What's this? The disbelief on Caspian's face grew and disappeared into sly plotting. No, it appears he did not have competition for Susan's hand. He had in front of him a kindred spirit, someone who also fell under the female Pevensies' spell, and a useful ally and shield for him from the male Pevensies.

He examined the boy covertly, who was on the cusp of adulthood, just as Lucy was blossoming into a beautiful young lady. Tomas inherited his father's tan Telmarine coloring, and his mother's Narnian grey eyes stood out against his bronzed complexion. Caspian supposed the boy was good-looking, now that he was no longer a threat. He didn't imagine the boy had much opportunity to talk to Lucy. Tomas was a stable-boy and lowly soldier, not even a ranked one at that, and would be seated far away from the high table during dinner. While Lucy and the other Pevensies often made rounds during dinner, he doubted Lucy would dare venture into the corner table that was full of rowdy soldiers. Peter and Edmund might have crossed paths with Tomas, might have even enjoyed a drink or two with him and other fellow soldiers, but Lucy wouldn't be familiar with him.

'Queen Lucy will be up now, looking for breakfast and her sister,' Caspian said conversationally and watched the boy's cheeks redden at the name. 'I prefer going to inform her of Queen Susan's whereabouts myself, but my attentions are needed elsewhere. The lords will be waiting for me at the Grand Hall.' He shook out an imaginary lint from his tunic, making a show of frowning at this inconvenient false appointment. 'Would you go relay my message, Tomas?'

The boy clutched the dandy brush in his hands. 'Your Majesty?'

'She'll be wondering about Su- Queen Susan,' Caspian repeated patiently. 'Will you let her know that Her Majesty's gone for a ride and will be back for lunch?' Tomas straightened his spine and pulled anxiously at his ragged tunic. 'I've to meet the Lords now, but thank you, Tomas.' He patted the boy's stiff shoulder and walked out of the stables, whistling as he went. He could hear the boy scrambling to tidy the stable and lock up. The horses whinnied, annoyed by Tomas' sudden departure and Caspian had to hide a smile.

The first thing Lucy did upon waking up was to check the space beside her on the bed. When her hands encountered sheets, cool and silky to her touch, the warning bells in her head had her bolting up and tumbling off the bed in her haste to sit up. Swathed in yards of billowing silk and lace, Lucy's eyes darted wildly around the empty chamber.

No Susan? Dear, God. No Susan.

Lucy struggled to free herself off the tangled blanket and crawled sluggishly towards the porcelain washbasin. Her hands shook with nerves and sleep. Water splashed clumsily out of the pitcher and onto her robe. Frustrated, Lucy gave her face a desultory wipe and tugged on the satin ribbon around her neck. A knock on the door had her pausing warily, arms raised above her head in the act of pulling her night robe off. When the second knock came and the door remained closed, Lucy dropped her arms and let the robe slide down slowly.

'Your…Majesty?'

Her forehead creased in confusion. 'Who is it?'

'It's…ah…it is Tomas, Your Majesty.'

Puzzled, Lucy approached the door cautiously and paused feet away from it. Tomas? Lucy frowned and tried to match a face to the name and the pleasantly male voice. Could it be one of the soldiers? Had Caspian sent them to fetch her? Is it about Susan? This last thought spurred her into action. 'You may enter.'

The door creaked open painfully slowly and a head of unruly black hair peeked in. Their eyes met, her blue ones settling steadily on his wide grey orbs, and the strangest thing happened.

He blushed.

Lucy watched, fascinated, as the pink flush in his tanned cheeks spread to his ears, the tips showing through locks of jet-black hair, and down to his equally tanned neck.

'Are you alright?' Concerned, Lucy began to walk towards him. 'Are you feeling well?' She was close enough now to see that the pink flush had reddened to an almost feverish shade. He was rather tall, almost as tall as Peter, and she had to rise up on her tiptoes to lay her palm on his forehead. His gaze slid down to meet hers.

It was oddly unnerving, that second meeting of their eyes. Lucy could feel her cheeks warming from the sudden rush of blood that heated her skin. A part of her mind, a detached part of her mind, observed the amusing and almost ridiculous setting of the tableau. The two of them standing so motionless that they could be mistaken for statues, were it not for the identical red blush spread all over their skin. Another part of her mind, the part that couldn't seem to form a coherent thought, marveled at the warmth of his skin and in his brilliant grey eyes. A lock of dark hair fell over those eyes and Lucy's scrambled brain had the sudden urge to brush that errant lock back.

'If-' Lucy blurted out. He flinched, whether at the sudden loudness of her voice or the way she jerked her hand back, she didn't know and didn't care to find out. 'If you're not feeling well,' she continued, stepping away from him. Inside the long sleeves of her robe, her hands were clenched into fists. 'I can produce a…a…' What would you produce? 'A medicine for you.'

'A medicine?'

'Yes, a medicine.' Her tone was unintentionally harsh and she smiled, trying to lighten the air. 'I am a healer, you know.'

'Of course, you are,' he replied, nodding enthusiastically and forgetting his proper speech. 'I knew that. I've seen you working with Cloudbirth, mixing up this and that, and healing Ronan the other day when he ate that bad stew. Would've let him be, if I were you. Spewing his guts all over the castle rushes as he was. He needs to learn his lesson. That oaf eats whatever he sees. Did you know, once, he even tried to eat…' Tomas trailed into silence at the sight of the amused smile on Lucy's face. By all the Gods, he thought dreamily. She is incredibly, incredibly beautiful.

'Well?'

'What?'

'What did he try to eat?'

'Who?'

'Ronan! What did he try to eat?'

Yes, you dolt. What did he try to eat? 'I…can't say,' Tomas replied slowly. For someone who had been rambling on and on, he was suddenly struck speechless.

'Is it so horrible that you can't tell me?'

'It's…not meant for a lady's ears,' he explained pathetically.

Lucy scoffed, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms on her chest. 'Tell me and I'll try not to faint.'

'Yes, do tell her.' Lucy's arms fell limply to her sides as she whirled around to face that dreadfully familiar voice. Peter peeled himself from the wall he was leaning so casually on and walked towards them. He raised his eyebrows at Lucy in acknowledgement before turning his inscrutable blue eyes on Tomas. 'I'm positively squirming from the anticipation,' he quipped drily.

'Peter-'

'Your Majesty.' Tomas hastily dropped to one knee.

'What's your name, soldier?' Lucy stiffened, recognizing the coldly imperious tone in Peter's voice. Very rarely did he use that voice that in the moments when he did use them, Lucy knew without a doubt that Peter the High King was here and he was not to be trifled with.

'Tomas, Your Majesty.' His reply was so subdued, so far removed from the man who had been chatting freely about Ronan's sick, that Lucy instantly felt pity for this victim of Peter's unexplained ire.

'And why were you in the Queen's chamber?'

'Peter, for God's sake-'

'Lucy, I'm talking to the boy,' Peter replied stiffly.

'Talk to him while he's on his feet,' Lucy retorted. Kneeling down, she closed her hands around Tomas' forearm and pulled. To her surprise, he resisted her feeble tugging and fixed pleading grey eyes on her as if to say Don't make this worse. 'Please, stand up,' she whispered. 'I'm commanding you.'

Shakily, Tomas rose to his feet as Peter watched dispassionately. 'Well? I asked you a question, soldier.' Peter's eyes flicked coolly to the worn military emblem on Tomas' tunic. 'You do belong to Caspian's army, do you not?'

'I do, Your Majesty.' Clearing his throat, Tomas kept his eyes on Lucy. It was easy to forget about the High King standing in front of him, about anything in the world, really, when he looked into those warm blue eyes. 'I was told to deliver a message to Queen Lucy on the King's behalf. It's about Queen Susan. She's gone out for a morning ride and she wanted the King to tell you that she will be back by lunchtime, but the King had to meet the Telmarine Lords, you see, and I was the only one around at that time, so he told me to go and deliver the message to you. See, the Queen thought you might be worried about her when you wake and find her gone. The King would've gone and told you this himself but he had a-'

'Yes, a meeting with the Lords,' Peter interrupted bluntly. 'So you say.' He closed his hand around Lucy's shoulder and subtly began nudging her into the bedchamber and away from Tomas. 'Was that all?'

'Yes, Your Majesty.'

'Then, you're dismissed. Queen Lucy, a word? In private?'

'Thank you-' Lucy managed to get out before the door shut on Tomas' crestfallen face.