After the fete, I received an invitation to every event at the castle that summer. At each of these I found myself at Queen Susan's side. I joined the hunt—really more of a maying party culminating in a merry chase—and found myself riding beside the Queen. At the balls, I could not shrink away into an alcove because somehow, she and I gravitated towards each other. I always asked her to dance and she always slipped her hand into mine and looked up into my face.

In the meantime, King Edmund and I continued to collaborate on business through letters—and even occasional meetings when he could spare time to ride out to my estate. I wanted to say we were friends, but we only ever seemed to talk business. I didn't know how to get past that without playing a bold card.

Summer started to melt into autumn and I had my seventeenth birthday. People began to expect me at court. I knew several noble families by name and we would bow to each other although like in the Lone Islands, I was the same rank as the fathers instead of the carefree sons. Tumnus always made a point of chatting to me over a glass of wine. The gates of Cair Paravel opened to me; I was expected.

The harvests started to come in, and yields that year were high. My ship came back with a handy profit from the metalwork trade. I could see how rich and happy a land Narnia was.

But it was not free of trouble. Word came that a band of the Witch's remaining followers had gathered near Lantern Waste, and a ripple of fear spread through court and kingdom. The Kings were going to ride out with the army. I called for the folk of Lionshaim to send donations to the army, and together we made a handsome contribution of supplies and munitions. On the first cool morning, the army rode past my house. The servants lined the path to honour them. I took my place by them as head of the house with some reluctance when we heard the bright call of the bugles and saw the army riding the road.

The Kings were dressed for war; their armour gleaming bright in the sun. The High King's jaw was set and his eyes steely. Beside him, King Edmund rode straight and proud, his dark eyes sweeping over everything, taking all in. Our eyes met; he gave me the briefest of nods. The standards flapped in the wind and the regiments marched past in perfect time. The High King gave a call and the soldiers began to sing. I could hear the Kings singing as well, a marching tune that made my chest swell with the grand majesty of it.

I turned back to my paperwork and planning, feeling soft and useless in my day clothes. I vented some frustration with sword practice for an hour, but eventually I had to go back inside.

A few days later I received another letter from the castle. This was not an official invitation but a note in Queen Susan's small, neat handwriting.

My dear Lord Peridan,

We are trying to find some diversion whilst my brothers are away and find ourselves in sore need of company. I daresay you won't find decorating for the harvest festival very entertaining, but your presence would be very welcome if you can spare the time.

Yours faithfully,

Susan, Queen of Narnia &c

Underneath, Queen Lucy had written a postscript.

Please do come because we are very bored and should like to see a friendly face. I know this is what Susan wrote, but she wrote it so seriously it doesn't sound as sincere an invitation as it is. -L

I smiled at this as I pocketed the letter. I squinted round at the house. Surely the work could go on without me for a day. I called for Lodestar and jumped into the saddle. We tore away at full gallop, just to feel the freedom of speed.

When I arrived at Cair Paravel, Queen Susan was waiting on the steps. She smiled and stretched out her hands to me. 'Lord Peridan. You are very welcome.'

I clasped her hands and bowed over them. 'I could not refuse such a gracious invitation.'

'Do you mean mine?' Queen Lucy demanded with an impish smile. I laughed a bit and the Queens led me inside.

We had tea in the Great Hall among some half finished decorations in blazes of fall colours. Queen Susan sighed. 'I am trying to get the decorations right for the harvest festival, but nothing seems to be coming together.'

I tilted my head, examining the decorations. 'It's a question of balance,' I said, then checked myself. 'If you don't mind me saying.'

'Do go on,' said Queen Susan.

I got up and picked up a wreath of crimson leaves. 'If you were to add stalks of wheat—or perhaps an entire wreath of wheat and fruit.' I took out my sketchbook and demonstrated with a few quick strokes of a pencil.

'Yes, exactly that! Thank you,' Queen Susan said, and she laid her hand on my forearm. I looked up into her face.

'How did you do this?' Queen Lucy said, cutting through the moment. She held the sketchbook up and squinted at it. 'You only drew a few lines but I can see everything so clearly.'

I shrugged and reached out, hoping she would return the sketchbook. I did not want her to see—and mock—the sketches I had done of the four of them.

'Lucy,' Susan chided, 'Those are Peridan's sketches. We should wait until he chooses to show us.' She cast a glance at me. 'Though I very much wish he would.'

I took the sketchbook back from Queen Lucy and drew my lower lip into my mouth. I glanced up at Queen Susan, who looked both hopeful and encouraging, and then back down at the sketchbook. I flipped to a sketch and placed it before her, forcing myself not to wince.

It was a study I had done at a recent banquet, of the Kings and Queens on the dais. On another page was a more formal one, of the four of them sitting in their thrones looking very regal and still. This one had more movement—King Edmund and Queen Lucy had leaned forward to conspire with each other, while Queen Susan smiled ruefully and the High King had tipped his head back with laughter. I preferred this one to the formal sketch because I fancied it started to capture their personalities.

'This is marvellous,' Queen Susan said. 'I have interviewed many artists, but none could capture us like this.' She grazed her fingertips over the sketch in the same way that she brushed my shoulder when we danced.

I grinned. I couldn't help it. 'Thank you,' I murmured.

'I've never seen you smile like that,' Queen Lucy said.

Queen Susan looked up from the sketch. She didn't speak; she met my eyes with a soft look in her own and laid her hand on top of mine.

'Now you'll have to help us decorate,' Queen Lucy said. 'And I imagine Susan has many more projects in mind.' She rose and dusted down her skirts before going over to a project of garlands of berries.

Queen Susan and I sat making wreaths for a quiet half hour, passing each other leaves and flowers and stalks of wheat in companionable silence. Occasionally I would look up from my work and find her glancing at me. This made my fingers fumble. I tried not to think too hard about what it might mean.

I stood on a ladder to hang the garlands Queen Lucy had made, and when Queen Susan passed them to me, our fingers brushed. I did not know if this was by accident or design.

Queen Susan stepped back to examine our work. 'It looks well,' she declared. 'Cheerful and warm.'

Queen Lucy gave a restive sigh from her chair and her sister turned to her. 'Do you not think so, Lu?'

'It looks fine, I suppose,' said Queen Lucy, 'But what's the point? The boys are out at war and we're stuck here at home hanging garlands.'

I pursed my mouth.

'The point?' Queen Susan said, turning slowly to face her sister. 'Do you not think there is a point to this?'

'It's not that exactly,' said Queen Lucy. 'It's not pointless, as such. But I want to be with the boys. Helping them.'

'Peter lets you ride with the medics sometimes and that is more than enough,' Queen Susan replied in a clipped voice.

'It's not though!' Her sister burst out. 'I want to be out there doing something noble and important for Narnia, not playing at tea parties.'

I folded my arms across myself. Pleasant as the afternoon was, Queen Lucy had cut right to the heart of the matter.

Queen Susan threw the ribbon she was holding to the ground. 'This is not play! Why is it that everyone thinks the only way to be noble is to cover yourself in blood and get yourself wounded or killed? Taking someone's life is not a noble deed. What makes Peter Magnificent and Edmund Just is not what they do on the battlefield, but after they have won the day—the mercy Edmund shows to our enemies, the way Peter rallies everyone round the banner of Narnia. It is in the sacrifice that they make in riding out. You think Peter doesn't trust you. You don't see that he marches to war so you and I don't have to. The very least I can do is show them what their sacrifice is for, how much we prosper because of them. That, sister, is why we hang garlands and make merry. To honour what they do.'

She turned away and wiped the corners of her eyes with the crook of her finger. 'I am sorry, my Lord,' she said to me. 'I hope you will understand now when I say that I am very relieved you did not join the army. I do not think I could bear to worry any more than I already do.'

Queen Lucy launched herself out of her chair and hugged her sister. 'I worry too,' she said. 'And you're right. I'm sorry.'

Queen Susan sniffed and patted Queen Lucy's back, then held her tighter. I made the final arrangements to the decorations in silence. After a few minutes, both queens came to stand beside me and we hung decorations together. To break the silence, Queen Lucy started to sing in a high, clear voice, and that started to cheer us.

The bright sound of a horn cut through Queen Susan's song. We froze and stared at each other. The Queen's faces were tense, their eyes dancing with hope. 'Raise the flags at once,' Queen Susan called. 'They are home.'

She and Queen Lucy led the way to the castle entrance. All of us in the company followed. Queen Susan stood very still, her hands balled into fists at her sides, biting down on her lip.

'It will be alright,' Queen Lucy murmured. 'We would have had word.'

Queen Susan said nothing in reply.

The portcullis raised and the army rode through, both the High King and King Edmund leading the column. Queen Susan made a choking noise and flew down the steps, barrelling into the High King just as he was dismounting his horse. He staggered with the force of her embrace, but then he folded her to him. He murmured something to her, but I was not close enough to hear.

Meanwhile Queen Lucy had gone to greet King Edmund. She cupped his face and looked into his eyes. 'Well and whole. Susan will be satisfied then.'

He was normally pristine and well appointed, but underneath a week's growth of scrubby beard his face was streaked with sweat and grime. He pushed a hank of greasy hair off his face and I saw that his eyes were tired. Queen Susan gathered him into her hug with King Peter. 'For heaven's sake, Su! We're not dying.'

'I know,' she sniffed, 'And that's the point.'

He rolled his eyes, but he returned the embrace. When she let him go he saw me. 'And how have you been bearing up, my good Lord?'

'Better than you,' I replied with a hint of a smile. I felt that he wanted to be teased like everything was normal. I was right; he laughed drily.

'Yes, well that's what battle does to you. Bit hard to be fresh as a daisy when you're fighting tooth and nail.' Despite the ironic twist of his mouth I saw that he was sincere.

All round the courtyard I could the weariness seemed to ooze off all the soldiers. When I had heard of the glory of battle, I thought then that the army would return home flushed with victory, smiling and triumphant, not grim and glazed with exhaustion.

The High King looked round him. Like King Edmund, he was grimy, with a full beard despite being usually clean shaven. The dirt showed more in his fair hair. 'Rest, then food for everyone,' he declared.

'Everything's been prepared for your return,' Queen Susan said. 'I'll have the kitchens start at once.' The High King nodded at this.

'Rest for all,' he repeated. 'That means you too, Ed.'

King Edmund glanced up from a bulletin he was reading and frowned. 'Oh. Yes. I suppose.' He clanked inside, murmuring to me as he went, 'Although I never sleep well after coming home from a battle, despite feeling so tired I could drop.'

An impulse seized me to offer him a game of chess or some other diversion. I could see that his mind was ticking over too much, too fast, which I knew all too well. By the time I opened my mouth to speak, though, he was already halfway up the stairs.

When I got home that evening, I sat before the mirror and drew a portrait of myself. I used the same techniques I had for drawing Susan—blurring the lines, gentle edges, light shadows. I accentuated the roundness of my cheeks and the innocence of my eyes and the velvet and silken softness of my clothes. I finished in the small hours and appraised the drawing. The likeness was good, I decided, and that did not sit well with me.

I drew another one day after receiving a particularly complementary and chatty letter from King Edmund. We had been going back and forth about the construction of roads, and I had sent him a map with a proposed route, carefully researched so that it didn't pass through any wildlife settlements yet still straight enough to be practical. I drew the map myself, and I couldn't refrain from adding little notes and comments relating to all the things we had talked about. His reply was full of warmth and wit, and even commendation. That night I took up my pencil and tried another self portrait, this time full of energy and strength and done with quick and forceful strokes.

Laid side by side, both portraits confused me. I didn't know which version of myself was true, and the yearning for someone to guide me swept over me. I stuffed both portraits in an envelope and penned a letter to Orran.

Dear Orran,

I hope all is well on Avra. I haven't heard much news. Aurie is an irregular correspondent and Uncle writes with precious little news except quarterly updates to say things are going well with the family holdings. I would like to respond with a detailed account sheet of the fortune I have built since arriving in Narnia, but it is perhaps best not to poke the dragon.

Things are as prosperous as when I last wrote you—my trade fleet does well, and I have added another ship to the fleet just this past month. Expanding the fleet is a bit speculative, but the shipbuilding and hiring of shipwrights and purchasing of materials and stores means more jobs for the town. I am very eager for the town to do well. I feel it is the best opportunity I have to show my worth to the crown, especially since I did terribly at muster and did not get selected for the army. I feel Father would be horribly disappointed in me because shortly after there was a campaign West to fight some remnants of the Witch's forces. Needless to say I did not ride out. Instead I went to the castle at the invitation of Queen Susan and saw the homecoming of a battered, tired army. I don't even know that I want to be part of that, only I did promise father.

In the meanwhile, there is also the matter of Queen Susan. I don't know how else to describe our relationship except to say that she flirts with me. We dance together at every ball. She finds reasons to touch my arm or my hand. Most of all, she gazes at me with her soft, deep blue eyes as though I am a hero. Except I've not done anything.

I've heard people say 'The Queen only has eyes for Lord Peridan' and this fills me with a strange fear I don't understand. I should be proud and happy. She is so lovely, and so kind to me. I am happy when I am with her. I like her immensely.

And yet I hesitate, and I don't know why. It seems silly to turn away the love of a beautiful, kind-hearted, lovely Queen because three years ago I had one kiss with a boy. That brought me nothing but pain. Besides, what can one kiss even tell a person about anything? Maybe I just wanted someone, anyone to like me. Or even if it did mean something, maybe I am more like my father and could be happy with a woman too. Maybe I'm just shy and that is why the words stick in my mouth. Or I am intimidated by what her brother will say—the High King, that is. A lot of people think Edmund is very inscrutable and imposing, but it is not so very hard to get a read on him. I rather like him, to the point where I often want to tease him. I have the feeling he wouldn't mind, but still I don't quite dare, not really knowing the rules. Maybe that same uncertainty is what's stopping me from asking to court the Queen?

Please advise me here—I feel constantly I am in over my head. I wish we were all of the same rank, because I like all four of them so very much I crave their friendship. I am always mindful that they are my monarchs though, and going round in circles is giving me a headache.

Yours,

Peridan

PS have enclosed two portraits of myself which I think show my confusion. Am I successful or a failure? Am I acceptable or an outcast? Perhaps you can help me decide.

A few weeks later I received Orran's reply:

My dear boy,

Every day I marvel at how much you have grown and how well you are doing at such a young age. You have done more with your time in Narnia than most men—myself included—have done with a score of years in the Lone Islands. I do not doubt you made the right decision. You are only seventeen—I think the world has much more to see of you yet. I am so proud of you already, and I know your father would be too. Do not worry about the army. You have many hours yet to come where you might distinguish yourself. Destiny does not like to establish a status quo.

I think often of the conversation we had before you left the Lone Islands, where I told you about myself and your father. While my heart was glad that you accepted the truth of what we were to each other, I do not know if you truly understood the lesson. Peridan, my boy, there is no point or profit in trying to deny who you are. It may be possible that you do not fully know yet. That is likely the reason for your reticence with the Queen. The other possibility, the one I consider more likely, is that you know the truth but you are afraid admitting because it will bring you pain and circumspection when your star is rising. It would seem easier to ignore the truth, but there I advise you not to think with the rashness of youth. To you, the now is everything. But twenty years from now, will you be happily married to the Queen or secretly miserable because you ignored yourself. This is something only you can answer, but do not answer in haste, whatever you do.

To that end, on a more practical front recognise that there is no need for a quick decision. You are not of age for another three years, so even if you were madly in love, the High King could not possibly hear your suit until then. Use this time to think, and to try and understand yourself. Remember that more than anything, both your father and I want you to be happy.

Your affectionate godfather,

Orran

A/N: These chapters are slow, but I needed to establish some things before moving the story on. I am, however, interested in feedback about whether they are interesting or not. I did decide to post this chapter at the same time as the next one so that I could finish the transition phase and start the action.