The day was cloudy, over-cast and gray, looking very much as if it was going to rain. Peering out at the bleak sky through the poor view from the barred window, Lucy sighed heavily and turned away.

It was very strange, she thought, preparing for one's own execution when you knew you were going to be spared. All the same, there was always that stupid, irrational nagging thought lingering in the back of her mind that didn't sound at all like her, whispering cruelly, "What if he changes his mind and doesn't lift his finger? Or what if he's careless and waits too long before he remembers what he has to do?"

Of course none of that sounded anything like Caspian, and Lucy was able to reassure herself that, even with his belief that she had betrayed him, he still loved her and would not forsake her completely. Still hanging over her, however, was the fear that she herself might funk this. She, the nerve-racked former queen, might see the signal and not be swift enough to miss the blade. She wasn't fast-natured, she knew. Edmund had nearly always won when they'd raced back at the Lantern Waste. Sure, her legs being much shorter than his probably accounted for that, and the times she had won had probably been because he'd let her, but she still quivered with fear for a large portion of the morning.

Thinking of Edmund calmed her down considerably, surprising as that might seem. Lucy couldn't help thinking that, if the sword didn't miss her and she died, she would be no worse off than he was-they would both be dead together at least; both asleep in death. And if she managed to follow Caspian's instructions as she hoped she could-for even then she did not truly wish to die, she wanted to live-there was the reassurance that if Edmund were still alive, he would have wanted her to survive everything thrown in her way and to make a new life for herself. Either way, Lucy found that she felt closer to him, going to the scaffold, than she'd thought she would.

The little queen had been permitted to chose her own attendants to walk down with her to the scaffold and to stand at her side. Also, one of them would have to hold her crown when she took it off and handed it over, as a sign of giving up the queenship before death-Caspian had explained it all to her earlier. So, Lucy selected two of the more likeable ladies-in-waiting; one of them the little maid who had tried to comfort her when Peter left court. To hold her crown, she didn't chose a woman at all, although she had come close to asking a lady-faun to do it, simply for the look of the thing, before changing her mind. She knew it wasn't tradition, but she wanted Trumpkin the red dwarf to be the one she handed her crown to-and she wanted Trufflehunter the badger up there with her as well, if it would not shame them too greatly, and if they were willing. They both agreed, and as King Caspian had told the court not to murmur against his decision to allow it, it was done.

The dress Lucy wore as she stepped out into the chill air, walking slowly down the flagstone steps to the scaffold, was plain white, simpler than a night-dress, and she wore no ornaments except for her silver crown with the eight diamond diadems. How different this was from the coronation! Looking back it didn't seem like quite so very long ago. Her rein had been short; it had started off well; it had fallen from grace; and now it was over.

The scaffold was a large platform of grey-and-brown painted wooden planks and two black pine-wood steps. Little Lucy looked very small in comparison to the vast space up where she stood, even with all the others standing behind her, the only ones she dwarfed being Trumpkin and Trufflehunter. Her longish hair was up in a loose bun, so as to leave the back of her neck clear for the sword's strike, with a few fair, wispy strands having escaped, framing her round face.

She took in everyone and everything around her. The crowds; too many faces to count. The courtiers; some looking less than angry-she fancied they might actually pity her supposed fate now that their rage had cooled off. Lord Sopespian was there, but he did not look the least bit remorseful; Lucy thought his expression was more of restrained jubilation than anything else. General Glozelle looked a little sad, though, and Lucy felt the most childish urge to wave to him, or at least, to give the poor man a friendly smile. He had never been her friend-not really-but she'd never had any reason to dislike him, either. Compared to Sopespian the man was a saint.

In the very middle of the crowd, where Lucy could not make out individual faces, stood two people she would have recognized at once if they'd dared to come nearer; only one of them had a fatter belly and a more loosely-laced bodice than when the former queen had seen her last.

Then there was the king. Caspian was sitting up on a canopied stand on a throne-shaped out-door seat, the woman who would replace Lucy sitting beside him.

The Duke of Galma's daughter was not the kind of person even a more jealous sort of young woman than Lucy was could have hated. She really was a helpless-looking wisp of a woman. Only two or three years Lucy's senior, she had plain, mousy-brown hair and skin as chalky as pastry dough, her face dotted with more freckles-especially on the bridge of the nose-than a person could have counted using their fingers. She had wide hips under her royal blue silken gown, but the rest of her was as small and frail as a wild snow-coloured rabbit. Her height was not impressive either, considering she was barely even a head over Lucy, and that was only if she ever sat up straight and stopped leaning over to squint at everything. Not a threat at all. In fact, all Lucy thought when she saw her replacement was, "Poor girl."

She wondered, even, if the daughter of the duke would like being queen. Yes, some parts of it were lovely. There certainly were things about it that Lucy, in spite of being grateful to have her life spared, would miss. But what if something went wrong with this queen, too? What if she-without meaning to-also turned the whole country on its head? True, she most definitely did not look like she could cause trouble, but then neither had the little child-bride Lucy remembered seeing in the looking-glass on Sir Digory Kirke's wardrobe right before her own wedding. The last queen Narnia had had that truly looked the part was Caspian's first wife. Anyone coming afterwards was just a poor substitute.

Lucy had heard her ladies whispering that the duke's daughter had already started her fittings for a wedding gown, and wondered-for a passing moment-if that was true. If it was, she wouldn't hold it against her. If she had not been the second wife to the king, and her parents had managed to push her into court as the third instead, her family would have arranged her fittings just the same. At least, even if the Pevensies were in disgrace now (and Lucy did feel sort of sorry for her parents, the count and countess, seeing as the whole mess had started with them trying to prove their high-standing and pride to the Philippes who they'd unwittingly pulled down into shame with them), the Duke of Galma had stepped up considerably. She could be happy for him, assuming he was a good man. She didn't know him, of course, but she liked to think he was.

Staring out into the crowds again, Lucy suddenly wondered if she ought to say something. Caspian hadn't suggested she make a speech or anything like that, but the way everyone was looking at her so expectedly made her feel as if she simply had to say something, though she couldn't fathom what. A spoken formal apology would probably be received the best. Lucy, however, didn't feel like saying, "I'm sorry." Not only did it sound weak and pointless, it also made her seem far more guilty than she actually was. What did they need her to say sorry for anyhow? They had Edmund's blood for the sin they assumed he had committed with her, didn't they? And they were going to have her crown now. So they didn't need a cliché queen-on-the-scaffold moment.

Would it be wrong to tell the truth, then? If she was really going to be beheaded, Lucy knew she would have told them flat-out that she-and Ed-were innocent. Yet, as Caspian had his plan to release her and to keep his country strong at the same time, she couldn't necessarily just blurt that out. She wished she could say something nice for Edmund, though, that was what pricked at her conscience the most-that he hadn't been spared, too.

"I tried to be a good queen," Lucy finally settled on, speaking shakily. "I wish I could have done better and been what Narnia needed."

She must have looked quite pitiful, for a few courtiers wiped at their eyes, watching her hands slowly raise themselves above her head and lift off her silver crown, handing it backwards, over to Trumpkin.

Then a hand pushed Lucy down onto her knees. Her lips quivered, tears blurred her vision and for one horrible moment she feared she would be blinded by them so that she could not see Caspian's signal. Blinking rapidly, she looked over at her soon-to-be-former husband.

The king did not let her down; his finger moved just as the sword was swinging dangerously close to the back of her neck. Doomed Queen Lucy ducked and grabbed onto the executioners legs, holding on with all her might, her arms aching dreadfully.

"No, please! In the name of Aslan, don't!" cried Lucy, as if she really were about to be beheaded-as if it wasn't simply a short step up from being a play.

Of course Lucy knew the king couldn't control the weather, but it seemed just a mite too perfect that the sky overhead rumbled and raindrops started shooting down. If she hadn't looked pathetic before, she certainly did now.

Sure enough, King Caspian rose up just as the guards rushed forward to pry Lucy's arms off of the executioner's calves so that they could proceed with the beheading.

"Stop!" Caspian ordered.

Everyone, courtier and commoner alike, tilted their heads to look at him. Peter breathed a sigh of relief and squeezed Susan's hand. Trumpkin's pale-with-worry face behind his long carrot-coloured beard flushed with a slowly easing conscience; he hadn't wanted to see a child-queen beheaded, either.

"I believe Lucy has been through enough with the prospect of being beheaded, and of the man she cared for being executed first." The king's voice carried as he spoke so that no one could possibly have any excuse for missing a word here and there. "Those who doubted my power and strength have been corrected-for one who went against me is dead and the other is humiliated. Those who-and I know there are more of you than you will admit-wanted justice and mercy for Lucy will get it. And by keeping her alive, she will live to learn from her mistakes."

Looking rather frustrated, the Duke of Galma shouted, "What about my daughter, Sire?

"What about her?"

"You promised to make her queen," he said sourly. "How can she be queen if you have a wife still living?"

"Lucy is not my wife any longer," said the king, "I hereby annul our marriage on both the ground of infidelity, and on the ground that it was never consummated. We are both free of each other; and she is to be sent away."

Lucy's dress was rather soaked from the rain now, though the heads of everyone watching her stand there shivering-except for the king and the duke's daughter-were just as wet.

Everyone seemed satisfied with King Caspian's choice to let her live. Not even Lord Sopespian protested-which was surprising in itself. Probably that was because he got what he wanted anyway. A new queen on the throne, Lucy gone, and Narnia turned on its head-if only for a moment. So, without further ado, the king snapped his fingers, ordering his servants to throw a cape over Lucy's shoulders before she caught her death, and then went inside the castle to get ready for a short trip down to the eastern harbor the Dawn Treader was docked in.

As soon as she had changed clothes, looking very like a commoner because of no more silver or gold thread or raised designs on her dresses, not even the rights of the daughter of a ladyship any longer, Lucy was taken out to a carriage prepared for her. The king sat beside her and didn't speak until they were nearly there and he noticed she was crying into the crook of her arm, trying to hide her tears from him.

"Lucy," said Caspian, glancing from her to the thin stream of gray light that peeked through the carriage windows, "he wont hurt you. You'll have everything you ever wanted; a husband close to your own age, an adventure, a ship, and a decent means of living. I would never leave you hanging, even after what happened."

"We didn't," sighed Lucy, blinking at the man who had been her husband. "I know you won't believe me, but Ed and I never did what everyone at court is convinced we were guilty of."

"You still stand by that story," Caspian's expression looked rather forlorn, almost wistful.

"We went to see the eclipse, we sat on a hill, that's where we were when you can't account for us."

"And what happened on the hill?"

"Do you really want to know?" asked Lucy, closing her eyes and then opening them again. "The truth, I mean, not what everyone assumes."

"The truth would be nice."

"We kissed," she admitted, "but Edmund stopped because he remembered I was yours-he wasn't out to betray you or to steal me away from you. He never was."

"Nothing else happened?"

Lucy shook her head. "Then he brought me back to Cair Paravel."

Caspian's face looked strained; and she couldn't tell whether or not he really believed her this time, although she always did like to think afterwards that he had.

"What about when you were both alone in your chambers together? Or that night I had to go and track you down at that manor?"

"He never touched me," Lucy swore, tears pricking at her eyes as she thought about how much she missed him.

Caspian sighed again, not asking anything further.

"What's his name?"

"Hmm?" Caspian's mind had wandered off a bit after she'd finished talking.

"The man I have to marry and live on the Dawn Treader with for seven years," Lucy clarified; "what's his name?"

Caspian pressed his lips together, only releasing them when the carriage came to a stop, to say, "Come on, I think your husband would prefer to leave the country as soon as possible. He will not want to be seen by anyone other than the crew, I believe."

A footman took Lucy's hand and helped her down from the carriage. A man stood by the harbor wearing a long black cloak with a hood pulled over his face. She found this most unfair, considering that she wouldn't have even known he was around her age if Caspian hadn't told her so.

Maybe he has a scar or a deformity, Lucy thought as her initial irritation began to wane a bit, pitying her new husband a little. If she couldn't love him-since she didn't even know him-she could at least find something about him to understand, if nothing to like.

It was much more likely that he was hiding his face from anyone who might be looking for a known criminal. This would have frightened Lucy far more if she didn't keep on reminding herself to trust Caspian. She was a little afraid, still, of being married off to this faceless stranger, but the king had not let her down during the execution, so she didn't feel right doubting him.

Caspian stared very sternly at the hooded man and said, "Here is your wife, as I promised."

The man's hood bobbed-showing nothing-as if he had nodded, and he came closer.

At that, Caspian took Lucy's hand and joined it with the hand of the man under the cloak.

He's wearing a leather glove, Lucy noted, feeling the leather wrap around her hand.

"You are lawfully wedded under the laws of Narnia, so you may live as husband and wife," said the king, in a very official-sounding voice, "but you are also banished for the time period of seven years. Any treasure or loot you find during this expedition is half-yours, but any new lands claimed by your crew are wholly subject to the crown of Narnia. Also you may not take slaves or own any animals save for the chickens already on board your ship or else a dog or cat of your choosing if any places you find yourselves in happen to have such creatures."

Lucy's face twisted, as if it were about to crumple, and tears started to roll down her face once again.

"Goodbye, Lucy," said Caspian, in a final-but not unkind-voice.

She watched, her new husband still holding her hand, as the king climbed back into the carriage. Part of her wanted him to look back, and maybe if he had been a free man, not a king, he would have, but his head did not appear in the window.

As far as Lucy could figure this was the last time she would see Caspian for seven years, if not for ever-since she probably could never return to court. And he never looked back. He was stepping into a new life, and a new queen would soon be his. Rilian would have another new 'mother' to adore and be a son to, one who hopefully would not disappoint him as Lucy had. And, she, no longer Queen Lucy, no longer Lucy Pevensie, Lucy Nobody, apparently, had to live with that. She had to learn to survive with her new husband and new life. This wasn't what she had thought would become of her, but it was her life now. She would have to make the best of it.

Her husband let go of her hand and walked onboard the ship, looking at her from under his hood-though she still couldn't see him at all-as if he expected her to follow him.

When she boarded the ship, greeted by a few crew members who-thankfully-seemed like nice people, she went to the prow and stood where she could, if she leaned just a little bit and squinted, see the king's carriage vaguely in the distance, getting smaller and smaller.

While she stood there, unsure of what to do with herself, her husband came up behind her and squeezed her hand, pressing something into it, then he vanished onto the other side of the ship.

Curious, Lucy looked down at the object in her hand. It was a peppermint. For one second she almost thought...but it couldn't be! And her hopes soared and then plummeted, remembering that her Edmund was dead. The peppermint had been a sweet gesture, and she was glad that her new husband was kind enough to think of such a thing, while a little surprised that it was a peppermint of all things, but she reminded herself that he wasn't Edmund Philippe.

"Mistress Lucy," an elderly crew member approached her.

Ah, so that's who I am now, Lucy realized. Not a lady, nor a queen, just a maiden, a mistress. It was still better than being called 'Dame', at least, she consoled herself, thinking of Dame Macready back at her parents home in the Lantern Waste.

"Y-yes?" She turned her head and looked into the old man's sky-blue eyes.

"I'm to show you to your cabin, under orders, miss."

"Very well," said Lucy, following him across the deck and into the largest of the small cabins on board.

"There is a lantern in here, you can light it when it gets dark. Will that be sufficient, Mistress Lucy?"

"Yes, thank you."

His expression became discomfited for a moment. "The movement of the ship does not bother you? I can get you something with ginger in it; it helps sea-sickness."

Lucy shook her head. "No, I love it." The rocking of the boat, now that she stopped worrying about her future and began to drink it in, was actually more soothing than anything else.

"It's early evening now, and I don't know when your husband will be able to come to you. He is below deck at the moment, dealing with some sailing charts, but he wanted me to tell you that he will try to come as soon as possible."

The old man meant this in the nicest of ways, and Lucy knew that, but he was beginning to scare her unwittingly. For she realized now that having only been married once, to an older man still grieving for his first wife, she hadn't been expected to sleep in the same bed with him. She'd had her own chambers and ladies and servants, practically her own little household. But on the Dawn Treader she would not have that. She would be lucky if he didn't sleep directly on top of her, considering that the bunk wasn't very spacious. For some reason she hadn't thought about this before, that he might want to touch her. Her mind had thought only of the sorrow of leaving all she had finally come to know, and of losing Edmund. That was it.

And as the man turned and left her alone, Lucy felt her teeth chattering together. If her new husband-whoever he was-touched her, she'd scream-she knew she would. But who would help her? He was her husband; the king himself had said so. No crew member in his right mind was going to break down the cabin door if her own husband tried something with her.

Why didn't I think of this before and run away? Lucy thought, feeling stupid and overly-innocent, babyish, even. She felt that if she had any brains, any of that good sense Edmund's sister had always had too much of, she wouldn't have let herself be put into this cabin at all.

Maybe there was still time; the ship had taken off, probably, but she could jump off, into the water, and...

And what? Swim where? There was no where for her to go. Besides, she hadn't even talked to her husband yet. Caspian wouldn't have given her to a monster, she kept telling herself, so she needed to calm down.

Hours went by, and Lucy sat on the bunk, a wool blanket around her shoulders, trying not to burst into an endless round of sobs. She wondered if Peter knew where she was.

Finally the door creaked open and her husband, still in a hooded cloak, walked in.

"Hullo?" said Lucy, still trembling.

"Are you all right?" said a warm, concerned, gentle voice from under the black hood. "Your heart's beating so fast, like a drum, I can hear it all the way from the other side of the cabin."

Lucy's gaze on the figure tightened; her face was white, not with fear any longer, but with pure awe. She knew that voice.

AN: Reviews are nice. How's about leaving one?