A/N: Well, this is... a few hours late. If you're in the U.S. or you keep up with U.S. politics you probably have a really good guess what got to me this week. So, here, have this tooth-rotting fluff of a chapter because honestly we all deserve sweet, nice things and by the gods, I needed a gooey chapter. If you've been hankering for some sweet romance content, here you go, enjoy, gorge yourselves because we've only got one chapter (I think, at the rate Caslina inflates my word count, who tf knows) left in Part 2!

Chapter 52 Content Warnings: mention of alcohol

Chapter 52: all that I'll ever need

Addie

"What's that?"

"Rouge, Adelina," Nadni mutters as she rubs thick pinkish-red paste into Addie's cheeks. "To bring some colour to those cheeks."

Addie's face heats as her ladies' maids giggle. Nadni flaps a hand at them, scowling.

"Hush now, fetch the hair ornaments. No, not those, the gold!"

With a titter and a flutter, a maid as pretty as the dryads in Caspian's storybooks produces a golden circle of flat, interwoven leaves, as wide as Addie's palm. The maid passes it to one of the two behind Addie, both busy taming the curls they've been painstakingly twisting, gathering, and scenting with spiced oil for the past half hour. Addie's scalp stings as half her hair is clamped into a bun, the gold circlet holding it in place and snagging loose hairs.

"A bit off-centre, isn't it?"

"Don't be daft, it's perfectly symmetrical!"

"I never said symmetrical, I said off-centre."

"Well, I think -"

"For gods' sake!" Fingers still stained red, Nadni parts the three ladies' maids and surveys their work. "Hismea is right; the bun is akimbo, too far left. Redo it."

Throat tight, Addie swallows and looks up. Nadni will throw a fit if her watery eyes leak and disturb the maids' careful layers of powder, perfume, rouge, and gods only know what else.

Trade the makeup for herbs, the perfumes and brushes for pots and pans, and the vanity for the hearth, and this might feel like the kitchen.

But here, the flurry of tightly organised chaos circles around her, and her homesickness is worsened by the distance of etiquette. She's the eye of the storm here, not part of it. If she reached out to touch the walls of the hurricane, she'd be tossed back out or ground to dust.

"Green for her eyes, I think. Yes?" A maid with freckles and patrician-high cheekbones holds a thimble-sized pot for Nadni's discerning eye.

"Yes," says Nadni. "But earth-toned colours else wise. The king's eyes are dark brown; hers should complement." She dips her fingers into the rouge pot again.

If Nadni's lessons allowed more time outside, her cheeks would have plenty of colour and the rouge wouldn't be needed. Addie starts to mumble so, but Nadni bumps under her chin and it's either keep sassing or bite her own tongue.

"Stay still, or we'll start this whole process over, princess."

Ridiculous. She's not.

Addie sits obediently as Nadni swipes another red paste over her lips, the brush tickling her kiss-chapped lips.

It's too much, all of it. This flock of ladies' maids, the gold hair pieces, the jewels waiting to be strung around her neck, the cake of makeup on her face. Caspian thought her beautiful before any of this; why does she need to be a doll now, something to be trussed up and trotted before the court?

Dolls are loved at first, but when their beauty cracks, they are discarded on a shelf to collect dust, never to be touched again.

Tradition. It's tradition, something about propriety and belonging with the nobility and easing the transition of power. To help the surviving Telmarine court feel some of their ways are still honoured and respected, and thus, they are too - that's how Queen Susan put it. Tradition and etiquette equate to respect for them.

Addie's nose itches a warning as Nadni powders over her rouged cheeks. It feels like to the court, the appearance of nobility is more important than the substance of who someone is. For them, substance is bloodline.

If the damned court cared more about who Caspian is, they would have stood up to Miraz and the war never would've happened.

Still, it must be nice to know where you come from. To know your family generations back and feel the weight of that history like a coat in winter.

Addie squares her shoulders. It's summer now. She doesn't need a coat. She'd drown in her own sweat if she wore one.

"Adelina, stop blinking!"

"I'm preserving the… rouge." Addie eyes the freckled maid and her green-stained fingertip. "Might want to wait on that."

Nadni drums her fingertips on the vanity. "Tardiness is only a virtue among schoolchildren."

Addie grits her teeth, closes her eyes, and tries to stay still as a delicate - but firm, not gentle - finger rubs green powder into her eyelid.

Later, at the Narnian dance, it won't matter if her eyelids are green or her eyes look brown or if she has noble blood or not. But until then, maybe this powdered, corseted prison will be worth it, if only to see how foreign her own body can become.

Will Caspian like her better this way?

She might, if only for the shield of pretending to be someone else.

Someone stronger.

When the whirling storm of makeup subsides, Nadni hauls Addie behind a dressing screen - a new semi-circle of wood panelling and thick screens blocking off the wardrobe from the rest of the room. Addie walked in on an apple-cheeked maid unfolding it this morning.

"For your privacy, my lady," said the maid.

Addie clamped her teeth and said nothing.

The screen also hides the dirty clothes basket. It hides the bloody rags she tucked under the dirty sheets from any eyes but hers and Nadni's.

Now, Nadni shucks off Addie's dressing robe and turns her back as Addie checks her rags. Freshly changed, but it never hurts to be sure. Nadni is especially paranoid tonight.

When Addie straightens, Nadni guides her into a silk overdress. Deep sapphire blue, a skirt that flows like a midnight river, silver side lacings, scooped neckline crusted in pearls and silver embroidery, long trumpet sleeves - it's ostentatiously beautiful, tailor-made to fit her body.

She's transformed, a caterpillar into a butterfly, her body no longer her own.

Beauty like this feels like a kiss with a knife to her throat. Dangerous beneath the longing, like some death of the self lurks in the flowing silk.

With a final tug, Nadni's hands fall away and Addie steps from behind the screen. The hemline whispers along the floor as she walks, balancing on the balls of her feet so her heels don't step on the hem. The freckled maid approaches and kneels, guiding Addie's feet into blue leather slippers before she can insist she's perfectly capable of doing that herself.

Instead, Addie pinches out a smile and thanks her.

Nadni claps, startling the maid away. "Well, turn around. Let's see you."

The skirt swirls out in a halo of blue as Addie spins, silk shushing over the stone floor and the toes of her slippers. Tash, she'll step on it!

Addie stops abruptly, straining onto her tiptoes - heels up, up.

"I see your balance is not yet improved."

A smattering of giggles blooms, only to fall silent at Nadni's clap.

"You are dismissed, all of you."

The maids file out, murmuring among themselves, close in the way of people who've joked and woken and eaten together for years. The room feels less bright when the door clangs shut, even if the light of their camaraderie was as cold and distant as the stars.

She doesn't want to be here. She wants to be in the kitchen, madhouse though it must be. Perla probably started everyone hours early to prepare for the feast.

"Dare I ask how your curtsy fares?"

Addie faces her and shrugs. "You'll be disappointed."

"I'm sure." Nadni folds the screen and opens the wardrobe door. "Come, in front of the mirror. You ought to see yourself."

"Wouldn't it be easier to show me how to curtsy properly?"

Nadni lifts an eyebrow. "Come here, child."

"I'm not a child." But Addie obeys, only to see if she looks as awkward as she feels.

Something close to a smile lifts a corner of Nadni's mouth. "No. I suppose you're not."

Addie approaches the mirror.

And freezes.

She's never looked at her own image too much. She's caught her shape in a window's reflection, seen her soot-stained face staring back from water in a well bucket. Working in the kitchen left little time for vanity, and why bother prettying up for a reflection only to ruin it moments later? If she was clean, that was good enough. Mirrors were for the nobility, for the vain - for those with time to worry over their looks.

Now, a woman with sunset-red lips, pink apple cheeks, and wrapped in a dress like dark twilight sky stares back at her. The woman in the mirror stands awkwardly - shoulders too high, neck tense, forehead creased as she stares in confusion. But this woman is no maid. She looks…

She almost looks like she belongs here. Like she might do well on the king's arm.

Is this woman her, this almost-noble lady? Or is this a doll, a trick of light and makeup that will crumble to dust by morning?

"You see?" Nadni appears over her shoulder, crow's feet deepening around her eyes. "We might make a lady of you after all."

"I… I didn't know I could look like that."

Nadni taps her shoulders until the woman in the mirror drops hers. "I suppose if I had to, I could make a royal out of you. In a few months' time."

Addie swallows a spike of what if, maybe, and forces her body to relax into the perfect posture Nadni trained into her.

"Don't be ridiculous."

Even so, there's something to be said for looking like one. Just for special occasions.

Caspian

He loses his breath when he sees her.

The feast hall is alive with candlelight and courtly music - a blend of Narnian flutes and Telmarine timples, drums and vihuelas, harps and castanets. Telmarine nobles in their silk finery and gilded jewellery mingle amongst themselves, but a few venture to trade pleasantries with fauns in purple doublets and dwarfs in chainmail and gilded vests. The few centaurs in attendance tower above the humans, and their stoicism warns off most would-be conversationalists. A minotaur, Lion bless him, is circling the hall exchanging booming greetings, his over-large friendliness unsettling some Telmarines and breaking past others' defences.

As king, these small interactions, this evidence of progress, should steal all his attention.

But when Addie arrives, Caspian forgets all of it. The crown on his brow evaporates, the noise of the crowd and music fades, and there is only her. A vein on Addie's neck more pronounced than usual is the only sign of her nerves. If she's blushing, her makeup hides it.

Only a fool would do anything other than rush to greet his future queen.

Caspian's hand strays to his waist pocket as he weaves through the crowd and the hurried path they clear for him. The ring box's oval outline presses into his palm.

Tonight. He can't wait longer than tonight, when already she looks like a queen.

Addie stops him just as his hands brush her waist.

"Wait, I've been practising! Nadni'll have my head if I don't greet you properly."

Caspian's palms itch with the need to hold her, but he can be patient a moment more. "Properly?"

Addie sinks into an admirable curtsy, complete with the courtly flourishes expected of a noblewoman. She only wobbles a little, and catches herself without help, though he stood ready if she needed him.

In response, Caspian extends his hand palm-up. His pulse hums when Addie places warm fingers in his, and he bows deeply, from his waist, to kiss her hand. Then, with two quick kisses on each cheek, the greeting is complete.

This is not the proper greeting of a king to a lady of court. It is how a king greets his queen.

Addie's cheeks flush as he straightens. "Nadni didn't cover that last bit," she whispers. "Do I…?"

Caspian nearly kisses her then and there. Instead, he threads Addie's hand through the crook of his arm and leads her deeper into the hall.

"You don't need to do anything," he murmurs. "Though I should warn you, I do not intend to leave your side the entire night."

Addie presses closer, her body fitting like a puzzle against his arm. "Please don't. I might trip and fall."

"Never," Caspian promises. "But if you do, I will catch you."

As they make the rounds before the feast begins, Caspian still catches himself steering her away from the Telmarine guards posted intermittently along the walls.

Addie doesn't tease him about it; she clutches his arm tighter and breathes quicker until they pass safely by.

However, the nobility does not escape her blithe commentary. Addie makes a good show of manners as he introduces her to the council members she hasn't yet met, to the lords who look to Caspian before kissing her hand and to the ladies who settle on thinly veiled disdain or a lukewarm welcome, as if they don't expect her to last awhile. Addie offers polite greetings for every lord and lady, but when they leave earshot, her wit returns, sharp as a blade.

"If he was so pleased at your alliances," she sniffs, "he'd have fought beside you."

Caspian kisses her knuckles, soothing himself as much as her. Addie is right, but it's not the time or place to say so.

When they have both greeted every arrival, Addie's posture relaxes.

"Thank the gods," she mutters, flexing her right hand. Her left sits cradles in his bent elbow, fingers curled into his sleeve. "Anyone kissing my hand again will be too soon."

Caspian catches her hand and smooths his thumb over her knuckles. "Anyone?"

"For the moment, yes, anyone." Addie grins ruefully as she flicks his palm. "At least let me wash it first. Lord Bel-something has a wet mouth."

Caspian hides his cringe as he steers her toward the nearest table of refreshments. "Lord Belevoz?"

The newly minted lord from Ettinsmoor, whose father died in the war, looked at Addie too long for Caspian's liking.

"Yes, that one." Addie shakes her head as he offers a wine goblet plucked from a passing servant's platter. "Just water, thank you. I thought Nadni's quizzing would help, but matching faces to sketches is harder than I thought."

"I forgot many a name when I was a boy, too," Caspian admits. He raises his goblet to his lips to muffle the words, sipping carefully. This wine for special occasions is darker, sweeter, and a far cry stronger than the everyday wine he drinks at dinner. "You'll learn soon, I promise."

"Ah, Addie!"

"Lucy!" Addie smiles instantly as Queen Lucy cuts through the crowd, skipping more than walking.

"How selfish you've been, Caspian! Keeping her all to yourself." Lucy loops her arm with Addie's right and steers their new trio to her siblings.

"My apologies," Caspian says.

"I'll forgive you this once," Lucy chirps. "But I get Addie's second dance under the moon tonight." At Addie's sudden laugh, Lucy gives her a shake. "Addie, do say yes. It'll be such fun!"

"Of course," Addie says. "I've been practising."

Queen Lucy pats Addie's hand. "You mustn't stress over perfection. All the same, I'm glad to hear it. I'd ask for your first dance too, but I believe that one is spoken for." She peers around Addie at Caspian, her green eyes sparkling.

"It is," Caspian hurries to say. "Most definitely."

A dancer by nature he is not, but this first he must share with Addie.

This time tomorrow, a lifetime of firsts may stretch before them.

He ought to ask under the summer's moon, when Addie's cheeks are flushed from dancing. Before the night ends, so they can celebrate. Yet not too early in the solstice dance; he, for one, will be anxious to celebrate properly just the two of them, in the bed he first became hers, and she his.

Assuming she says yes.

Lion, what if she doesn't?

The feast stretches a languorous three hours of supping, celebrations, and the usual politicking and polite backstabbing. Even - especially - at a celebration, connections must be made. Representatives from Galma and Archenland have come and these alliances - nascent with Archenland, generations-old with Galma - must be kept. The Kings and Queens are invaluable; King Lune's ambassador recalls the old friendship between Narnia and Archenland in the Golden Age with naked hope for the future.

Caspian agrees. Calormen was a friend to Telmar generations ago, and the Telmarines in Narnia maintained trade and military agreements. However, that was under Miraz, because the Telmarine nobility and Calormen Tarkaans and Tarkheenas shared disdain for the Narnians. Calormen will likely be no ally to Narnia now, and Archenland is an important buffer state in the Southern Mountains, which stand between the Great Desert and Narnia's southern border.

Addie does well. Caspian insisted she sit at his right; dinners with Addie two seats away have felt lonely, and if he's to propose - tonight - she will soon sit beside him at the head of the table.

This past week, in the flurry of setting up his new regime, he has abandoned her too much. No more.

Now, when Addie is quiet, he holds her hand under the table, or cups her knee if she's eating. When she asks a question, he ensures it is answered. When she stares too long at her plate, as if she's unsure whether eating would be an interruption, he takes a bite from his own plate.

She is trying. So hard, she is trying. He loves her for it.

At last, the feast creeps to a close. Two manservants open the double doors to the ballroom, where another cluster of musicians beckon the guests onward. The ambiance of the feast's soft, unobtrusive music fades behind livelier tambourines, lauds, flutes, tabors, and drums.

Caspian rises and offers Addie his arm. No matter how many times he offers his hand, any part of himself, to her, he can't keep from smiling when she accepts.

Propriety be damned. He already gave Addie a queen's greeting. It's nothing to lead his guests into the ballroom with Addie's arm in his, queen in all but name. No matter Addie's answer, for this night, they are bound.

Addie's grip tightens as they cross the threshold and the empty dance floor stretches before them.

"I wasn't very good at these," Addie whispers, her voice wound tight as a bowstring. "I might step on you."

"Dancing is not a skill of mine either." Caspian pries her hand from his elbow and smiles, free and easy. "If it helps, we shall be fools together."

"It doesn't," Addie says, but he spies her smile and the darker pink on her cheeks.

They wait as the other dancers line behind them. Then the flute's tune swoops, the drums beckon, and they're dancing hand-in-hand, leading a dance neither of them knows very well. Step, step, kneel, step, step, kneel as Addie skips around him. Her skirts brush his sides and thighs, and for a moment they're back in the study a year and a half ago, and Addie is in a kitchen maid's dress and he is a boy prince longing for the mere touch of her hand.

Caspian blinks the past away. This, the present, is even better. Addie's touch is sure, easy in the way of a lover who has survived and bled and longed and loved with him through impossible odds. He will always cherish the memories of those early, coltish days before he knew the taste of Addie's lips, but the present, the future has the whole of his heart.

This is the first time they've been merry together in front of others.

Lion, she's beautiful. Caspian smiles until his cheeks ache with joy and clings to her as the first dance bleeds into a second, a third, a seventh. Dancing is a pleasure if Addie is in his arms.

After the seventh, Caspian leads Addie to the refreshments table - her breaths are short, harsh, and her hand is warm to the touch. He's exhausted her, but she hasn't stopped smiling, and so he can't be very sorry.

Even so, he presses a goblet of water into her hands. "Are you well?"

Addie gulps half the glass before leaning close. "If not for propriety, I'd strip down to my shift."

Caspian laughs outright; what a sight that would be, though he'd rather only his eyes ever see her so undressed.

He is greedy for the sight of her, and he does not want to share it.

"If your attire burdens you so, we can make our escape," he offers.

Addie's eyes twinkle. "To your room? Your ancestors didn't add a garden near the ballroom."

One of Addie's most endearing, infuriating talents is how easily she turns him into a stuttering schoolboy.

"Or the… the study," Caspian says, smoothing his sleeve where Addie's touch creased it.

Addie sips her water. "Same thing."

"Your room, then. Is that chaste enough?"

Addie's eyes flick to the nobles milling about, a handful dancing and the others muttering amongst themselves. When Caspian glances at them, they look away.

"Not chaste enough for your court, I think," Addie says.

"Pay them no mind." At Addie's frown, he kisses her knuckles. "Truly. By this time tomorrow, many of them may be gone."

Addie finishes her water, her gaze glinting impishly as her fingers drum against polished metal. "Would a scandal help your politicking?"

Again, she startles a laugh from him.

How he missed her playfulness.

"Perhaps," he says, tickling Addie's elbow. "If it was sufficiently brazen."

Addie hands off her goblet to a passing servant's tray, murmuring thanks. When she peers up again, something lurks behind the temptation. Hesitation, perhaps? Addie avoided most public displays of affection this past week.

Yet when she speaks, he's helpless to disobey.

"Then kiss me," Addie says.

Caspian falls into her as river water over rapids, crashing and inevitable. Let his court see; let them gossip and gasp and mutter what a shame it is, this loss of courtly decorum.

He needs them to see Addie is his, and Addie needs to know he will break any courtly tradition for her.

"I love you," he murmurs into her mouth. "I love you, Addie."

Addie pulls him into another scorching kiss.

What in the name of the Lion has he been so nervous about? Addie will say yes. He can't kiss her like this, her tongue in his mouth and her hands fisted in his gilded overcoat, and think otherwise.

He's been a fool, fretting over what-ifs. He will know the right time, because Addie will look at him with an unspoken question whose answer he gave long, long ago.

I am yours, cries his every breath. Utterly, completely, I am yours.

"Caspian, it's an hour to midnight!" Queen Lucy appears at his elbow bright with mischief and the promise of Narnian magic. High King Peter is in tow, smiling indulgently.

"We'd best hurry," says the High King. "Lu's been looking forward to this ever since we returned."

Caspian pats Addie's hand and, after a kiss, leaves her in Lucy's care for the moment. Susan and Edmund are busy with the Archenland ambassador.

Caspian claps, and the musicians fall silent, halting the dancers and drawing all his guests' attention.

"Honoured guests, lords and ladies of the gentry, dear friends. I thank you for your attendance this evening. We have fulfilled the Telmarine traditions and honoured our past." Mixed mumbles float from the crowd. Caspian ignores them. "Narnian tradition, however, is not yet satisfied, and the future is yet to come." Caspian gestures toward the Kings and Queens. "As you must have heard by now, Narnian tradition often includes dancing out of doors, in the free air, under the summer's moon. All are invited; all are welcome. I do not order all to attend, but I hope you will. It is your choice. The dance will begin in one hour's time on the fields outside the city. I hope to see you there."

Caspian claps again, and the music resumes. The mixed group from the feast has already left, and the ballroom's musicians are all Telmarines. This Telmarine ball will continue on for the next hour before ending. Typical balls can stretch into the dawn, but not this one. That will be the Narnian dance alone.

Caspian returns to Addie and reclaims her right hand from Queen Lucy.

"The second is mine," the young queen reminds him. "Don't you forget."

Addie grins. "He won't."

In the wine-bright haze of walking the castle halls with Addie on his arm and the Kings and Queens surrounding them, Caspian almost misses Addie's whisper.

"I invited Lola and the others," she says, barely intelligible over Lucy's recollections of solstices in the Golden Age and Queen Susan's half-sincere shushing. "I promised I'd meet them in the courtyard."

Caspian kisses her brow. "Perfect, that's on our way."

Addie bites her lips, cheeks darkening. "I want you to meet them. Officially."

They're the only family I have.

"And what of Perla?" Caspian asks. "Will she be there?"

Perla is the closest person to a mother Addie's had. Perla gave a half-blessing veiled in concern - or a protective threat - when they first arrived, but he would be remiss to not spend more time with Addie's family.

As king, he does not need their acceptance. But as a man, as Addie's lover, he wants it.

"I don't think so," Addie says. "I never really see her outside the kitchen."

Caspian hums. "Perhaps next time."

Addie's lips purse. "Perhaps."

She's unhappy. Even through the sticky warmth of feast wine, he can see it in her pinched brow and high chin, as though perfect posture will hide her feelings.

"You miss her," he realises. "You miss them."

Addie stiffens, a terse, blank stare shuttering over her features. "Of course I do."

Before he can comfort her, her shoulders fall slack.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean I'm not…" A sigh, a glance toward a tapestry-covered wall. "It's just that they've always been there. I don't want to lose them. Not even for this."

Lion, how he hates hearing Addie so sombre. He can't relate - his only family has been Doctor Cornelius, who arrived when he was ten, and he learned young to downplay close ties lest his uncle eliminate another perceived disloyal. The maids are important to Addie in ways he will never understand.

But they are important to her, and that's all he needs to grasp.

"I can't promise you'll have all the time you want with them," Caspian says. The honesty is a bitter tonic for how Addie's next breath comes shallower. "But isn't there some time, still?"

Addie snorts. "Tell that to Nadni."

"I will."

Addie whips to meet his gaze, her hazel eyes watery. Caspian cups her cheek. Would that he could erase this hurt from her with a single touch.

"How much time do you need?"

Addie hesitates.

"Just the evenings. Not every night, I know that's not… Three nights a week," she murmurs. "I know it can't be forever. Just for a little while."

It tears his heart to see her thus: resigned, unsure, quietly heartsick. This is not what he wanted for her first week immersed in royal life.

Caspian presses a kiss to her hair. "However long you need, Addie. They're your family; I won't come between you."

The courtyard is milling with more attendees than he dared hope for. Queen Lucy spread the word across every class, and, more importantly, people responded. It's nigh impossible to say no to Queen Lucy. She wins trust as easily as he signs an edict.

"Lola!" Addie breaks free and sprints through the sea of people, a more even mixture of Narnians and Telmarines than he predicted.

Caspian follows, the small, round box in his pocket an ever-present reminder.

When he catches up, Addie is already in Lola's arms, shaking her head as a younger maid fawns over her dress.

"Hush," Addie says, patting the maid's cheek. "It'll be covered in grass stains come morning."

"All the more reason to appreciate it now," says Lola. Alfonso stands at her side, a hand at her waist and his eyes trained only on her - more doting husband than vigilant sentry.

Addie glances back, catches his eye, and reaches out.

He takes her hand and wills away his nerves.

"Caspian, this is Lola."

Caspian bows. "Pleased to meet you."

"And her husband, Alfonso. You met on the way here."

Caspian nods to the soldier, who spares him a bow and a quick greeting, though his body stays turned toward his wife.

"Sire." Lola curtsies in perfect unison with Alfonso's bow.

Caspian waves away the formality. "For tonight, just Caspian."

Addie squeezes his hand, thumb stroking his wrist. No, spelling something - an "L," a swoop, a… is that a "V"?

Oh.

Caspian traces the same message on the back of her hand as Addie introduces Claudia, the tallest maid of the three, and Sellea, the youngest, who curtsies despite his rejection of formalities.

"And Perla's… resting," Addie finishes. "Long hours."

"Needs her beauty sleep," adds Claudia.

"I hear tonight's festivities will deprive us all of such rest," Caspian says. "But Lion willing, it will be worth the disruption."

Addie bumps his shoulder, moonlight twinkling in her eyes. "Of course it will. Lucy'll have nothing less."

The Kings and Queens are already leaving the courtyard. Queen Lucy leads the charge through the castle gate, frolicking arm in arm with a satyr and a faun.

Caspian offers his free arm to Sellea, smiling reassurance as her eyes widen. "To that end, shall we?"

"I think we must," says Lola.

Alfonso offers one arm to Lola, the other to Claudia, and their newly formed party sets out in the shadow of the Kings and Queens.

Across the sea of grass, Narnian flutes, fiddles, and drums rise over the plains. The air is alive with the thick, green smell of grass and mead, and the full moon rains silver light that catches on every blade of grass and the court's jewelled ornaments. Already, the dancing has begun. Fauns in glittering doublets embroidered with gold, dwarfs in polished chainmail and leather vests with ruby buttons, minotaurs and satyrs with golden rings on their horns, centaurs with bare chests and emerald-studded armbands, and talking animals of every species dance in interlocking circles, clapping and singing heralds to the full moon. Even Wimbleweather the Giant has come; his booming claps shake the ground.

"Not quite a partner dance," Addie says, breath warming his ear.

"Then we shall all join as one." Caspian darts ahead, hauling Addie and Sellea with him, smiling as their laughter rings out clear as bells, bright as birdsong. It is nothing to enter the dance. A grey-bearded faun pulls Addie in, Sellea grabs Lola, and the rhythm carries them along.

Queen Lucy was right. This is not a thinking dance, not defined by precise steps as the ball was. This dance is joy itself, as effortless and intricate as breathing.

This is Narnia as it was meant to be.

Addie

The moon dance is everything Queen Lucy said it would be. It's glorious.

Where the Telmarine ball was stiff and formal, made enjoyable by Caspian's unflagging presence, his insistence that she stayed by his side, Narnia's summer dance under the bright moon is wild, free, every step and clap an invitation. The grass tickles her waist, and she trips on her dress thrice every dance, but oh, she's never felt quite like this.

A caterpillar becomes a butterfly, and here, her feet have wings.

Addie ducks low, fur brushing her hair as her circle dances under another. The curls Nadni and her ladies' maids so meticulously placed bounce around her cheeks, probably tangled, but what does it matter? Nothing matters here other than the next step, the hands or paws she's holding, and the rhythm of the drums.

When this, the fourth - or fifth, perhaps the sixth - song whines to a close, Addie claps with her partners and stumbles out of the circle kneading a stitch in her side. Her stamina for the Narnian dances isn't as robust as she'd like; they're so much livelier.

She looks for Caspian as she weaves toward the refreshments, but only King Edmund has left the circle and already, the next song is starting.

King Edmund plucks a wooden cup from the vine-covered table lit only by moonlight and offers it.

"Catch your breath," he says. "If Lu has her way, we won't stop until sunrise."

Addie murmurs thanks and gulps the drink. Pine, citrus, and a bright floral taste swirl in her mouth, heady and honey-sweet.

"I'm happy to indulge her. What is this?"

King Edmund swirls his own cup and nods toward a trio of fauns. "Elderflower mead. But don't ask for the recipe; it's their family secret."

Tash, she tries not to drink. She hasn't since -

Addie shoves the past aside and takes a smaller sip. Her shoes pinch her toes as she shifts. "Wouldn't dream of it."

King Edmund gestures toward her feet; his are bare, pale in the moonlight. "I'd abandon those shoes if I were you. Hideously uncomfortable, aren't they?"

Was she so obvious?

"A bit." Addie scans the dancing crowd. Sure enough, at least half the human dancers are barefoot in the grass. Queen Lucy is too, unsurprisingly.

This is a Narnian dance, and her shoes are uncomfortable. It's better to blend in.

Addie toes them off. Gods, that's much better. She thought the grass might be spikey, the ground riddled with pebbles and burs, but her stocking-covered toes only find soft grass. She shucks those off too and stifles a sigh of relief as a gentle wind whispers from the forest.

King Edmund grins, youth melting the years hidden in his eyes. "Better?"

"Much."

Another breeze curls by. Addie's skirt swirls around her legs, and an itching warmth blooms at the nape of her neck. Addie smacks it away. The one annoyance of being outdoors in summer is the mosquitoes.

A third wind blows. There is… no, not a voice. That's silly. It's the mead.

"It's Aslan."

Addie startles. King Edmund is busy watching the dance; his hair lies undisturbed while hers lashes her cheeks.

"He's here?"

"He always is, in some form." King Edmund nods toward the treeline, the threshold where the moon's light can only splinter the night without erasing it. "Don't be frightened; he spoke with all of us before… well, you'll see."

When Addie breathes in, she tastes a warm spice like sun-baked cinnamon and nutmeg.

"Is it safe?"

King Edmund chuckles. "He's not a tame lion, if that's what you mean. But he'll do you no harm."

The wind stirs a fourth time, winding around her waist like Sasne's fabric swaths. Caspian is still dancing, ink-dark hair in his face and mouth open in laughter.

Addie takes a last sip and leaves her cup on the corner of a nearby table.

"You'll tell Caspian where I've gone?"

"Of course," says King Edmund.

Addie squares her shoulders and marches into the dark embrace of the forest.

A/N: Surely this has absolutely nothing to do with Caspian's plans for the evening, hm? I wonder what Aslan's got cooking in his overlarge paws...

Chapter 53 Preview:

Aslan lies in the middle of a moonbeam, his fur ruffling in the breeze.

"Welcome, Adelina."