It was a wet spring that year, buckets of rain poured down on nearly an every-other-day basis. This led Edmund and Lucy to begin spending more time indoors. Usually they sat in Countess Helen Pevensie's parlor and played chess or cards.

On the day Uncle Harold came to speak to Count Pevensie, bringing his snooty wife, Aunt Alberta, with him to sit broodingly, stirring herbal tea and making unpleasant comments, they were playing cards.

Edmund had lost four games in a row and both he and Lucy were focused very intently on their fifth game. They had no need of going into the kitchen since Dame Macready had brought out their tea on a tray already, seeing as they weren't likely to break concentration just because it was time for a quick meal. That was why they hadn't any idea what the grown-ups were talking about at the table; and although whether their knowing would have changed what came of this conversation is probably a moot question, Lucy always secretly wished she'd been included. After all, it was largely about her. Sure, it was stirred with faded touches of politics, family-standing, alliances, and royalty, but when one really thought about it, it was mainly regarding Lucy. Uncle Harold (who, by the way, was a duke-at least in title if not in any overt sort of wealth) probably didn't see it that way, which was strange considering it was he who brought it up in the first place, but that was his own failing. Peter was there-and was rightly appalled-but he was very nearly a grown-up himself anyway.

"It's common knowledge that the king is grieving over the loss of his wife, Narnia's queen, but what people seem to have over-looked is that the Narnians will not rest without a queen for long-what kind of country would?-and that far sooner than we realize, King Caspian will have to take a new wife for himself." said Uncle Harold, speaking very proudly, as if he had tapped into something larger than life.

Helen was truly baffled. Yes, it was a sad bit of news, everyone had been heartbroken, but what did it have to do with their family? Why would her brother invite himself to tea insisting that he had something very important to discuss with them, simply to say that? She fought the childish urge to fidget with the tiny crystal beads on the cream-coloured bodice of her dress, forcing herself to wait quietly for Harold to explain.

"Sooner or later all the families with young, unmarried girls will be kissing the king's hand and groveling at his feet as if there's no tomorrow. You understand I'd rather see our family benefit first. We're an old family, Helen, quite old, for all we know we might simply be gaining back what's ours through this."

"Harold, I don't understand," said Count Pevensie, placing down his teacup with a concerned, tight look written all over his face; "what are you trying to say?"

"Brother-in-law!" snapped Alberta, her lips turned up into an angry sneer. "Must he spell it out?"

It was Peter who understood first; a look of clouded horror sweeping over him, the blood slowly draining from his face. "No!"

"You're honestly speaking of trying to arrange a marriage between the king and our Lucy?" Helen asked incredulously, her brows dead in the middle of her forehead, caught between being flattered and being utterly disgusted.

"No!" Peter said again, louder this time. But no one took any note of him.

"The king is getting on in age..." Count Pevensie's voice was that slow tone that is sometimes gentle and other times dangerous; it was doubtful if even he himself knew which it was at that moment.

"Lucy is twelve!" cried Peter, clenching his fists protectively. "She's only a child! The king is old enough to be her father!"

"She'll grow," Harold shrugged callously, rolling his eyes coldly. "She wont be twelve all her life...she might be queen for the rest of it, though."

Peter could feel his chin shaking madly with anger; his heart pounding in his ears. If Harold had not been any relation, he might have lunged at him right there, thrown a forceful punch, and broken the man's nose. As it was, he looked to his parents to make this nightmare end; surely they were about to comment on how ill-matched such a despicable marriage would be. But then he saw something flicker in his father's eyes. It wasn't firm, it was wavering in and out, fighting against good sense and genuine love for his little daughter, yet it was still there. And Peter saw it.

Outraged, Peter shouted, "Father, you can't possibly be considering this?"

"No," he stammered unsurely, glancing over at Harold. "...I mean, yes...sort of...it's not...I mean...I..."

"Mother?" Peter's voice was nearly breaking with emotion as he turned to Helen for help. "Mother, please, tell him not to-"

"Lucy's not thirteen yet..." said Helen diplomatically. "I'm sure you understand I feel uncomfortable about-"

"Uncomfortable?" Peter echoed in disbelief. "That's it? Uncle Harold speaks of getting our Lucy, your precious little girl, married to a man only a little bit younger than you are, and you're uncomfortable?"

"The king is a good man, Peter, you of all people know that-you're one of his knights." Harold said sharply, still unfazed.

"Oh, so just because I'm loyal to my country and king means I have to like the idea of my little sister being married at twelve?" Peter sneered; his face was very red and he looked ready to explode.

"King Caspian is mourning his wife; if he remarries, in all likelihood, he wont touch the new bride-but whoever she is, she'll still have a coronation-our country needs a queen-and so what does it matter how old the girl is? Marriage in name, little else." said Harold, smiling over at a prim-looking Alberta.

"This is monstrous," Peter gritted his teeth, shaking his head. "I don't want to hear another word!"

"I don't like you casting your aspirations on this household," Count Pevensie said to Uncle Harold.

"I think you should let the matter rest, Harold." Helen put in softly, seeing her son's bubbling rage and the look of bafflement on her husband's face, not sure how much longer either of them had until they snapped.

Back in the parlor, Lucy had no idea what they were saying, but she did suddenly think she heard her brother shouting. Being so adored by him, he rarely ever raised his voice in her presence unless she did something unsafe, so it was very strange hearing him shout. Whatever he was going on about was infuriating him.

"Edmund, do you hear Peter shouting?"

Edmund was surprised, too. "Yes, let's go see what's wrong."

They put down the cards and went into the other room just as Harold and Alberta were leaving in a huff, both of her parents looked stunned and torn, and Peter appeared ready to hit someone-Lucy had never seen him so angry before.

"Peter, what's the matter?" Lucy went over to him, holding out her hands.

He wouldn't tell her; he wouldn't let her get wind of this. What was the point of frustrating her over something that he'd sooner drown himself in the brook than allow to happen? "Nothing, Lu, it's nothing."

"Your nostrils are flaring." Edmund pointed out, his forehead crinkled.

"I need to be alone right now," Peter said, patting Lucy awkwardly on the hairline. "It's not your fault, Lu, go back into the parlor-I'm going upstairs."

"What's with him?" Lucy turned to her parents with her left brow slightly sunken.

"Harold was saying something that upset him, dear, he'll be fine." Helen told her, planting a kiss on her daughter's forehead. "Nothing at all for you to worry about. We have things in hand, nothing bad is going to happen."

"Why would something bad happen?" Edmund wanted to know.

"It wouldn't." said Count Pevensie firmly. "And it wont. Peter's just upset right now, let it go."

Once the thought of arranging a marriage for Lucy had been started, it became like a snowball rolling down a hill, growing bigger and bigger; no one seemed to be able to stop it. Of course Helen didn't think it was right to give her daughter, especially at such a young age, in marriage to so old a king, but she had nursed-secretly-for a few years by this point-a sort of idea that she might be able to marry Lucy off to Edmund eventually. It didn't seem like a bad notion. And it certainly wasn't very far-fetched.

After all, she had seen Lucy light the candle for him every night while he was away in Archenland, and she was aware of how fond they were of each other. They could be happy-and happiness was all she truly wanted for her children. Besides, Peter had brought up the subject of if it was possible for them to arrange a marriage between him and Susan Philippe; if the family turned out to be willing to give them a daughter-in-law, why not a son-in-law, too? It seemed quite simple, really.

Which was why one afternoon, when the sun finally shown and the rain had gone away, Helen went to visit Edmund's stepmother, thinking to at least plant the idea in her mind as well. Things didn't go as planned.

"Your Edmund and my Lucy seem so close, it's so sweet how they meet each day, just like they did when they were little children, isn't it?" Helen mulled aloud while Edmund's stepmother got out the gold-and-brass Calormene-style tea-set she liked to use whenever there was company.

"And why shouldn't they be close, Countess?" the stepmother answered with a smile that looked plastered-on. "They're best friends."

"I know," said Helen, undaunted. "It would be such a pity for them to ever have to part ways."

Edmund's stepmother wasn't a moron, she knew perfectly well what Helen was hinting at. The truth, however, was that, although she loved Lucy dearly and thought there could be no sweeter girl for a daughter-in-law, she had a secret idea of her own. She had noticed that Susan was already attached to Sir Peter, so the chances of getting her married off to someone of Calormene ethnicity without causing a row were slim, and that was very nearly all set. It wasn't official yet, but everyone expected them to give Susan to Peter eventually anyhow.

Yet, why, she thought, should she give and take from the same family? What would be the point of that? Peter's marriage to Susan would make one connection; why did she need to make a double knot by taking Lucy for her stepson's bride? She rather fancied that she could, to make up for the disaster with the Calormen school, marry Edmund off to a fine Calormene Tarkheena; and he would see that Calormen wasn't all bad. More than that, it would be nice to have the connection with a place half of her heart had always felt close to.

"Countess, dearest, please forgive my bluntness, but I believe Edmund's father has notions of arranging his marriage elsewhere." said the half-Calormene stepmother. In truth, she had not said a word of her plans to her husband, and her husband had said nothing at all of marrying Edmund off to anyone, but she acted as though it was all settled. She thought it would be cruel to allow Helen to nurse any false hopes.

Helen's face flushed; she was embarrassed, not having expected such an up-front response. Veiled hints are always nice, coy, demure things until someone stops beating around the bush and smashes them all.

"I-" her throat felt dry. What could she say?

"Your Lucy is a fine girl, though, I'm sure things will work out lovely for her." She took out a small silver-encrusted wooden spoon and stirred the tea in the pot.

"It's just-" Helen stammered, "-they...they do...like each other an awful lot, and surely since Susan was-is-with, you know, Peter, and...I just-"

"Darling, no one would ever dream of marrying into the same family twice, how would that look?" the stepmother said flat out.

"No, I understand..." Helen spoke through her teeth. "I'm sorry," she headed for the door, "I am feeling unwell all of a sudden and I simply must go home. Tea was lovely, thank you." (she hadn't actually had any).

When Count Pevensie found out about this conversation, he was furious; not just with Edmund's father and stepmother, but with his own wife as well. "Helen, why did you do that? Why?"

"I only meant-"

"Why did you go over there, with our family's honour on your shoulders, to beg someone to marry our daughter, eh? Lucy's a wonderful young lady, and she will be a perfect wife to whoever she marries, but she will marry him properly-none of this underhand groveling."

"I didn't beg," Helen said bitterly, feeling insulted. "I wouldn't dream of begging for such a thing-I only went to bring up what was already apparent."

"Apparent my foot!" shouted Count Pevensie in a thundering voice that carried.

"Husband, see reason-"

"Hush, Helen." he growled. "Anyone with a lick of sense would see that others should be begging marriages from our family-not the other way around!"

"What are you saying?" Helen felt her lips trembling, though she didn't know why.

"I'm saying my daughter is going to make the best marriage possible in the whole of the country-then they'll see what a mistake they made, speaking to us like that."

"You cannot possibly mean that-not if it's what I think you're implying-besides they wont refuse us completely...remember, husband, Susan is likely to be our daughter-in-law."

"Likely?" his right brow arched in a manner that was cold, distant, and resolved. "How long have we been saying there ought to be a match of it between the two? They always find an excuse."

"The last excuse was not theirs." Helen reminded him, to be fair. "It was you who wanted to wait until he had finished his training for knighthood."

"And he has, hasn't he?" argued Count Pevensie. "And do we have a daughter-in-law? No, no we don't. They're stringing us along to make us look like fools. Well, we shan't be fools any longer."

"Peter and Susan-" Helen tried again, almost in tears by this point.

"I wouldn't take their girl if they were to offer her now, it would look as if we were just waiting around."

"We were waiting around!" she protested.

"I will see about getting a new marriage arranged for him once the matter with Lucy is settled."

Helen went very white and picked nervously at a loose thread in the collar of her dress. "Lucy's twelve, have you forgotten that?"

"I remember; this might take some time anyway."

"Oh, Aslan," wailed Helen piteously into her hands. "That I had to live to see this day!"

Lucy went on knowing nothing of this, thinking things to be as they had always been; Edmund more or less under the same impression only that-for some unexplained reason-Susan wouldn't see anyone, sat on her own for hours on end, and wept and wept her whole heart out. Peter was better at hiding his emotions; he didn't understand, in full, his father's plans (he would have gone mad if he had, probably) but he had been told that he would not marry Susan Philippe after all. He was grief-stricken, needless to say, but he didn't want Lucy to get any wind of this, so he kept his tears and anger to himself.

One cloudy day where it looked like it might rain but wasn't yet, Lucy met Edmund at the lamppost with some very odd news.

"Lu, you're late." said Edmund, sounding concerned. "Is everything all right?"

"I don't know," said Lucy, her voice shaky with confusion, "something very strange is going on."

"How do you mean?"

"Well," she started to explain, "Peter was out this morning-father sent him on an errand-and then these strange Telmarine-Narnian noblemen came in, their names were...let me think..." she pursed her lips and tried to remember. "...oh, yes, Lord Glozelle and Lord Sopespian."

"What did they want?" Edmund asked, intrigued; strange news like this didn't come every day.

"I thought they wanted to speak to Father, but he said they wanted to talk to me...Mother was crying...I don't know why...and they came into the parlor and asked me questions for an hour."

"What kind of questions?"

Lucy wrinkled her nose. "All kinds. They asked me how old I was...when my next birthday would be...odd questions about what I thought of my country, Narnia-I told them I loved it, of course...I don't know why they wanted to know that..."

"Anything else?" asked Edmund.

"Well, Lord Sopespian started to ask something about whether or not I have my courses...but Mother started sobbing even harder and father told him to please not ask me that...what do you suppose a course is, Ed? Do you think he meant school-work or learning? That's what I think he must have meant."

Edmund's face was very, very red, practically scarlet. "Er...yes, that's what he meant...studies and such."

"Why do you suppose they came and asked me so many questions, Ed?" Lucy mulled, clearly unable to understand whatever was being arranged around her. "I was going to ask Peter, but then Mother and Father pulled me aside and said not to tell him. They told Dame Macready the same thing; I think she had something in her eye."

Edmund was worried; something was very wrong. He might not know what it was, and there was no need to get Lucy anxious in the meantime, but he was determined to find out exactly what was amiss. And, if possible, put a stop to it.

One might rightly wonder why on earth Caspian agreed to allow two of his courtiers to go speak to a little girl of no more than twelve years old over a matter of royal marriage; but to be fair, he didn't know very much about it.

He could think of nothing but his dead wife, and when his advisors started blabbering about getting him married again, he could have cared less. Anyone they picked was fine; he couldn't love another anyway, so what did it matter? They could go a-looking for a new Queen of Narnia all they wanted. Why should it affect him as long as she was a good enough person to rule? Caspian knew whatever wench they picked would be younger than himself-they weren't going to go after the old maids-even if he didn't know how much younger. Really, he didn't care about that, either. It was probably just as well that a new queen could out-live him and rule as regent after he died, before Rilian was crowned.

All he knew of the matter was that there was a girl, the daughter of a count, who his men were considering for the next queen of Narnia, and that her name was Lucy Pevensie. He did not know how old she was or what she looked like. For some reason he didn't notice she had the same last name as one of his most trusted knights, either. If Lucy had told him her name on the day he let her ride his horse, he might have known at once who they were speaking of and likely said, "Find someone a bit older than that, at least." But he didn't know, and he remained silent, letting them do whatever they pleased.

AN: And the plot thickens....anyway, please review.