The king was good to his word. He led Enna at a leisurely pace back up towards the castle, his warm and solid arm seeming to bolster Enna's still-unsettled nerves. Her heart was still beating unnaturally fast, but she had had quite the fright, and now was being escorted about by the high king of Narnia. As much as she wanted to, she did not dare observe him, to look him full-on and take in all the interesting dips and creases in his flesh that made him who he was, as she had been able to with Aramir while he was sleeping. So she instead watched the king's movements out of the corner of her eye, remembering just how terrified of him she had been no more than two weeks before.
Occasionally, as they ascended the sloping path back towards the stone bulwarks of Cair Paravel, she noticed him glancing over at her in a curious, slightly questioning way. He seemed to be pondering something, judging by the faint crease between his brows, but he remained silent for the most part of their journey up the slope.
Upon their approach to the castle, he smiled and opened a small door in the otherwise faceless stone wall. Enna had to duck to get through it, but then she realized that it was a grooms' door, leading right into the neatly kept stables.
Once inside, she looked around with delight at the numerous horses, many of whom were watching her curiously. There were several dappled greys, a few whites, and many others with their heads draped over the stall doors, their ears pricked and alert.
"Good afternoon, there, sire," said one stocky skewbald. "Will you ride today, perchance?"
The king nodded to the horse, coming through the low doorway. "Aye, Earon. I think I might, if Lady Enna here would not mind too terribly."
Enna shook her head. "Most certainly not, sire. I was just thinking of retiring to my room, actually."
He glanced over at her, one eyebrow raised. "I was asking if you'd like to come along."
"Oh—oh!" Enna said, eloquently. "I mean…yes, I—I'd love to."
"Very well, then," he replied, giving a half-smile. "Can you handle a horse?"
She nodded shyly, then sheepishly displayed her still-bandaged hands. "I could, once, but now…"
He nodded and turned to the horses. "Who would like to assist Enna?"
A dark bay tossed its head. "I would, sire. A breath of air would do me good, I think."
"I would be honored to assist Your Majesty," said Earon, snorting in a decisive way.
"Excellent," the king said, clapping his hands and calling for a groom to help him tack up the horses. "Enna," he went on, leading the bay towards her, "I'd like you to meet Roana. Roana, this is my friend Enna Stalresin."
Enna still wasn't used to being introduced to animals, much less as a friend of the king, but, at a loss of what to do, she dropped a quick curtsy. "How do you do, Roana?" she asked politely.
Roana turned her head and inspected her with one dark eye. "I am well, thank you. How did you come to"—she grunted as a faun threw a saddle on her back and tightened the girth—"meet our king?"
Enna became distinctly aware of the king's sudden interest in their conversation. "I was on a ship sailing from the isle of Galma," she replied evenly. "I was rather unwell, and he had me tended to."
The king chuckled. "Oh, do not be so easy on us both, Enna," he said, coming over to adjust Roana's stirrups.
"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked, offended. "…Your Majesty?"
"Neither of us were that fortunate, my lady," he answered.
Enna deigned not to answer him.
Roana was looking between them with curiosity. "What do you speak of, sire?"
"Never you mind, Roana," the king said with a teasing severity. "All right, Enna, do you need my help in mounting?"
"No, sire," Enna answered, flipping her plait, and, to prove her point, swung up onto the saddle. Abruptly, it slipped sideways on Roana's back and she slid to the ground with an oof and a large cloud of dust and hay.
The king looked amused. As Roana emitted wheezing guffaws, he offered Enna his hand, which she took grudgingly, saying, "Roana tends to do that sometimes. I apologize on her behalf."
Humiliated, all Enna could do was nod and try not to blush too red as she brushed her skirts clean. The king adjusted the girth and pushed the bay's head back as she nipped playfully at his hands. "Roana, be a good girl and behave. That is a command, do you hear?"
"Yes, sire," the horse replied, still whinnying with laughter.
Enna rubbed her sore backside and mounted the horse again, this time with a bit more prudence. When he was satisfied that she would not fall off again, the king took the skewbald and the bay by their halters and led them from the stable into the courtyard, where he was greeted by the numerous Narnians bustling about with their arms full of blankets or carrying buckets of water or holding dead chickens by the legs.
"Shust, do tell my royal siblings that I have gone for a ride in the hills," he said to a faun trotting past.
"Aye, sire," said he, breathlessly, and hurried on.
"Why are they all so rushed, sire?" Enna asked as the king mounted Earon and kicked him to Roana's side.
"I hired trolls to wield cat-o-nine-tails and be slave drivers so my castle will run efficiently," he answered. "Shall we?"
Enna couldn't help a quiet grin, which she hid behind her hand, and she kicked Roana to follow Earon out of the castle gates.
As the horses ambled down the path, Enna caught a glimpse of a heron winging its way from the sea over the land, its dusky shadow falling upon the waving tops of the vast forests stretching westward. A dark ribbon of blue twisting its way deeper into Narnia marked the passage of the river Enna had heard mentioned once or twice.
The two continued down towards the mainland in silence. It had been a long time since Enna had sat in a saddle, and she quickly recalled how uncomfortable it was as each of Roana's plodding footsteps sent waves of pain radiating up her thighs and lower back. But just as she squirmed every other minute, the king had settled into the saddle as if he'd been born to it, swaying easily with the back-and-forth movement of the horse and holding the reins with a light hand.
After a long silence, during which the horses traversed a mile or two of ground, the king cleared his throat. "Do you like Narnia much, Enna?"
"Aye, sire," she replied, gazing at the vast expanse of forest and plain that stretched out before them.
"Is it much different than Galma?"
She nodded. "Aye. Galma is very sandy, and bright. We don't have many rivers or forests." So saying, she gestured at the vista. "Nothing quite so beautiful."
"Nothing?" the king queried.
"Well, the sea at first light is a sight to be seen," she admitted. "As is the beach after a storm—all sorts of curious objects land on it."
"Like what?"
"Oh…" she sighed, thinking. "Bits of driftwood, shells, sea glass…things like that."
The horses continued down into the dale, the long grasses reaching up through Enna's skirts to tickle her legs. "I can't say I've heard of so-called 'sea glass,' Enna," the king said after a pause. "I'm afraid it must be something native to your island, which, I am sorry to say, I have not yet visited."
"It's molten sand, sire," Enna explained. "When it storms, and lightning hits the beach, it leaves little shards of sea glass where it struck. Sometimes it is collected and polished for use in our homes."
The king nodded. "And was it used in yours?"
"Aye," she replied. "My father had it cut and set into our floor in the most fantastic designs. My mother had a necklace of a piece that had molten over a frond of seaweed."
"Both sound beautiful."
"They were," Enna said with a sigh, remembering.
"Now, your father," continued the king, "was he a sailor, too, then?"
"Oh, no, not a common sailor," Enna answered with a little shock. "Of course not. He was a merchant, sire. And an honorable businessman," she added, looking at him askance.
"Of course he was."
With a rush of chill water that soaked Enna's feet through and through, the two horses plashed across the shallowest part of the river. The king looked at her. "You look rather uncomfortable, Enna. I am either boring you or causing you great physical pain."
"Oh, neither, sire," Enna hurried to insist. "Neither. It has just been a long time since I last rode, that's all."
"I understand perfectly," he replied with a wry chuckle. "The first time I rode a horse was when I was scarcely fourteen, if you would believe that. They were training me for battle at the same time, and my shoulders ached and my head throbbed and I was sunburnt and Edmund had given me a good bash on the shin and my finger had gotten caught in the saddle leather and nearly snapped in half and I thought I would die. Honestly, I did—it was the worst pain I have yet to experience."
Enna suppressed a smile.
"And then I got up before dawn to do it all over again." He rolled his eyes. "I think I finally improved just because I couldn't handle the learning anymore."
Enna looked at him. "Well, sire, it has done you great good. I've read about your deeds, and people talk constantly of the things you and your royal siblings have done."
The king actually blushed, and waved his hand. "Please, I have lived through those deeds, and they weren't nearly as courageous or…or magnificent as people say."
Enna wasn't sure if he was just being modest or if the king was telling the truth. So she just nodded politely and shifted on the saddle, gazing out at the rolling hills and endless forests that stretched for miles and miles beyond the horizon.
After yet another lengthy silence, the king cleared his throat. "So…I noticed that you and your seafaring friend Aramir are not as intimate as I had thought, upon my initial observations."
Rather confused, Enna snuck a glance at the king to find him looking at her. "I…I don't know quite what you mean, sire," she stammered, caught off-guard by his dark blue eyes.
"The way you tended him when his injuries were so deep," the king prompted. "In the dungeon. When I watched you two interact, I was led to believe that you were close."
Taken aback, Enna shook her head. "No, sire, I had never met Aramir before in my life. And I have indeed been rather cruel to him, so that is the source of the ill will between us, if you have sensed any."
"You could never be cruel, Enna," the king said, looking genuinely surprised.
"I mean no disrespect, sire," she replied with a sad smirk. "But Your Majesty does not know me very well."
As a warm breath of air stirred her hair and rustled the grass, the king looked at her, and was silent for a few minutes. Then he took a breath and said quietly, "I would wish that to change, Enna."
She was rather startled at this admission, and she looked at him. For once, he did not turn to look back at her, but rather stared unwaveringly at his hands as though he was afraid to look elsewhere.
Eventually, he did raise his head to face her, and they watched each other rather like children for a few moments. Then he said, trying to sound stern and failing, "And I insist we start with you stopping the foolishness of calling me 'sire' every other word."
"Well, what do you want me to call you, then?" Enna asked, surprised.
"My name might be a good place to start," he replied with good-natured gruffness, and turned his horse's head back towards the castle, obscured by the leafy heads of trees waving in the gentle autumn wind.
"Oh, Your Majesty, I can't call you by your name," Enna cried. "That is extremely disrespectful."
He shot a dry glance at her. "How old are you, Enna?"
"Eighteen, Your Highness."
"There," he said, gesturing impatiently. "We are barely two years apart. Why won't you call me 'Peter'?"
Enna flushed indignantly.
"You call Aramir by his first name, don't you?" the king continued, sounding increasingly frustrated. "Why can't you call me by mine?"
"Aramir is not king, that's why," Enna said forcefully.
"You forget that I share my throne, Miss Stalresin," the king replied, loudly.
"That makes you no less of a king, sire!" Enna cried, her annoyance getting the better of her.
His eyes flashed, but she returned the heated look.
"Your head would be long gone by now, wench, were you in another's kingdom," the king snarled at last.
"Why, because I dared to be respectful?" she challenged.
"Because you're arguing with me about being respectful!" he shot back.
Enna was rendered speechless, and she felt heat rising in her face. Eventually, she found enough courage to say, "…You're right, si—I mean…Peter."
The king had been prepared to make a smart response, but he was caught unawares by Enna's quiet admission. After a moment of stunned silence, he said, "It's all right, really. Now I know what it means when I am told 'A soft answer turneth away wrath.'"
Enna blushed. "Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes…Peter."
He grinned, and she smiled, and they went back to the castle.