Lucy's gown for the masque was made of rich, smooth velvet in a dark shade of purple, and there was real gold thread sewn into her bodice and around the hemming of the skirt. Her royal-blue under-shift was embroidered with little pale-cream-coloured rosebuds around the collar.

As they had so desperately hoped for, all the ladies-in-waiting got new gowns, too, though barely a handful of them actually deserved such a treat. For a fleeting moment Lucy had had a vision of her ladies wearing her hand-me-downs, which were very fine, but much too small for them, and giggled. When they asked her what was so funny, she shook her head and said nothing.

All the same, the little queen secretly wished she had someone around who she liked enough to share even her strangest thoughts with. Of course, to her everlasting shame, it was Edmund who came to her mind first; but she did think of Caspian afterwards. Back when he'd liked her, when he still trusted her, the king used to like to hear what she had to say. Sometimes she would say something at supper that made him laugh. With all that had happened, she hadn't realized how much she missed that-making her husband grin when he seemed a little down. She couldn't help but wonder if she would ever do that again; if he would ever like her again. Innocence had its limits; even the young lady who had once been Lucy Pevensie of the Lantern Waste knew that some things, when they were lost, could never be regained.

There seemed no real point in wearing a mask since everyone would know she was the queen. Everybody in court-and out of it-knew that the queen was smaller than everyone else at court and that the king was far taller than most of his subjects, except for Prince Rilian and Sir Peter. But they were both fair-haired and light-skinned while their king was dark-headed and olive-coloured, so there was no chance of their being mistaken for anyone else. Besides, Peter wouldn't be there to begin with, still at his manor in the countryside with his wife. At any rate, however, Lucy was, for the look of the thing, given a golden mask with white ermine (not talking ermine, of course) fur around the edges. It was the sort you hold in front of your face by a little hand-pole, rather than the kind you strap around the back of your head by a string or thread.

King Caspian wore a plum-coloured tunic with a gold shoulder-chain around it; a small charm in the shape of a Lion-head dangling from the left, two inches or so away from the centre. His mask, if he had chosen to put it on, was gray felt with silver and gold around the eye-holes. Prince Rilian wore similar clothes, only his were all in blacks and earth-tone browns, clashing dramatically against his bright yellowish hair. His mask was ebony-and-silver, strapping at the bottom of his chin like a riding-helmet.

"Your Majesty," said Lord Sopespian, approaching the king, noticing that he looked ready for the festivities, save for the dark, tired circles around his eyes.

"Yes, Lord Sopespian?"

"The guests are arriving,"

"I've moved Edmund Philippe's accommodations," Caspian assured him somewhat absently, unawares; "the Lone Islanders can go to the south wing chambers to freshen-up if that is their wish."

"Ah, yes, the Prince Rabadash and Tarkheena Lasaraleen have arrived as well."

Caspian winced involuntarily. "How do they look to you?"

"Young," said Lord Sopespian, dryly. Courtly manners prevented him from saying much else, even though, in spite of his wickedness, he rather disliked the prince of Calormen himself. It is a funny fact of life, that wicked people can use other wicked or stupid people, equally as horrid as they themselves are, and yet still hate them all along; never letting their true emotions show until the last minute when the fools find they can no longer use each other to accomplish anything beyond that point.

"I see," replied the king bleakly, picturing the young pair-one glowering, impossible-to-please prince who thought he ruled the world, and one silly little woman who thought he was simply seraphic in spite of the fact that all evidence proved Rabadash to be anything but.

"I trust the traitor's room is properly locked?"

"Oh," Caspian went slightly red in the face, feeling a little ashamed. "Something was the matter with the lock itself-broken in half, it looked like-but he's not going anywhere."

"Tis a dangerous thing to be as trusting as you are, my king," sighed Lord Sopespian. "I may be speaking out of line, but if it were my prisoner, a man who'd betrayed me and the country I ran, I would strap him to the bed before I left anything up to his character."

"I've spared him the threat of the axe, not to mention allowed him to regain his health," said Caspian; "I'm sure if nothing else, I have gained his gratitude. He's...he's not a bad young man, Lord Sopespian...just a foolish, foolish boy who made a costly mistake. He may yet mend."

"So you keep saying," was the reply, "but time will tell all."

"I am not wrong," the king was certain.

"Of course not, your Majesty," Lord Sopespian agreed in an official, edged-voiced manner.

"Father," said Rilian, coming up to them from the other side of the corridor, "the queen has arrived in the ballroom with her ladies."

"See that you treat her with respect, my son." Caspian warned him, giving the prince a look that suggested they'd had a talk earlier.

Rilian looked sullen for a moment. "She's not-"

"She is my wife," said Caspian, having the final word on the matter.

"Yes, Father, that she is."

"And?"

"And my stepmother," he admitted sulkily.

The king put a hand on his son's shoulder. "If I have forgiven her, what right do you-not her husband, but her devoted son who ought to stand by her through thick and thin-have to hold anything against her?"

"Stepson," Rilian said quickly. Then adding, "But yes, you're right."

"How is the wrist?" Caspian asked, glancing down at the fine gash Edmund had given the prince the night he and Lucy had jumped the drawbridge.

"Healing," said the prince, shrugging his shoulders.

"Very good." Caspian nodded at his son and Lord Sopespian, signaling that he was ready to go into the ballroom and see his queen again for the first time since her disgrace.

As they entered the threshold of the room, Tarkheena Lasaraleen burst into tears, and sobbed, "You don't love me, my d-d-dear prince, you only love that stupid, milk-faced cow!" loudly at Prince Rabadash before fleeing, grabbed a roll out of the nearest refreshment table's bread-basket, and then ran off wailing dramatically at the top of her voice.

Caspian looked over at one of his courtiers, a squire to a middle-aged knight, who had been present at the masque the whole time, and asked, "Why did the Tarkheena just run out crying into a croissant?"

The squire took a moment, pretending to deeply reflect, as if trying to remember exactly what had gone amiss. Really, he was trying not to laugh, knowing Prince Rabadash-who was already in a sour mood-would notice, take offence, and cause a row as likely as not.

Finally he managed, "It seems that his Highness, the prince of Calormen, was hoping to see Lady Pevensie, Sir Peter's wife, and voiced his disapproval at learning she was not going to be attending rather loudly. Evidently, the Tarkheena does not find Lady Susan to be half so pretty as she is said to be. The prince insisted Sir Peter's wife was the most beautiful woman in the world, which, needless to say, offended his mistress, causing her great distress." Being a tactful young chap, the squire chose to leave out some fresh, borderline-lustful comments regarding Sir Peter's wife that Rabadash had made a few moments before, and the fact that he also-while giddy on spiced wine-called her a black-hearted daughter of a dog being tamed by a man unworthy of breaking her in.

The king rolled his eyes. Prince Rabadash's fascination with Sir Peter's wife was nothing new; he was an unstable, horrible, selfish man. His brooding and seething over the fact that Lady Susan was not only married, but loyally married, unwilling to ever become one of his mistresses (for he would have much rather have had her than Lasaraleen, his second choice), was not exactly shocking.

"King Caspian!" cried Rabadash, smiling with all his teeth, barely noticing that his mistress had fled, figuring-perhaps rightly-that since he was a prince he'd just give her jewelry from the royal treasure stores later, and she would be pacified. If he decided he even wanted the bother of having her again to begin with, that was.

"Prince Rabadash," said Caspian in greeting, trying-and failing-not to speak through his teeth. "Welcome to Cair Paravel."

The prince took an aggravatingly long swig from the wineglass in his right hand and said, "Ahhhhhh!" about a dozen times.

Caspian willed himself not to scream, slowly edging himself over to the other side of the ballroom. He could see Queen Lucy there, looking very sweet in her new gown, peering over at him, wondering when he was going to speak to her.

Before he could reach her, Rabadash tugged drunkenly on his sleeve and slurred, "My good king, when is Sir Peter returning to court?"

"I had not known you were so terribly fond of him, Your Highness." said Caspian, a hint of humour playing around the corners of his mouth; which of course the dim-witted prince did not pick up on.

"I'm not," said Rabadash, a little sullenly. "When does he return?"

"He doesn't," replied King Caspian. "I received his letter requesting early retirement in the post this morning-he expresses no wish to return to court, nor to fight in battles any longer."

"Good for nothing nobleman," muttered Rabadash, glad to have something to pick on Sir Peter about.

"He served me well," Caspian stood up for Peter, "even if he now leaves court for good. It is no matter, I trust the man, I know he must have a reason."

"Bah," said Rabadash, making a rude noise by smacking his dark, coffee-coloured lips together. Then he took another sip of wine and smiled at a passing lady-in-waiting of the queen who blushed and waved a little silver fan in front of her face batting her eyelashes at him.

Now's my chance to get away from this man, thought Caspian, fast-walking just slowly enough so that it couldn't technically be called running, making his way towards Queen Lucy.

Lucy had been taking everything in, nearly breathless as she stood her ground, aware that the courtiers were all looking at her-some with forgiveness, others with scorn. They were all pleasant enough, knowing full-well that the queen was more or less back in Caspian's favor again; and as he was their ruler, they were required to respect his consort.

It was funny to think, Lucy couldn't help realizing just then, that when she had first arrived at court as the king's young bride the nobles had been warm towards her, thinking her the most darling, innocent little queen they could have ever wanted. Now that they believed she'd done something wrong, yet were forced to accept her again by royal decree, their expressions were different. Their smiles were plastered on, courtly with no real warmth. The ladies-in-waiting didn't seem to notice this; they were too busy drinking in the joy of their freedom, no longer bound to a queen under house-arrest.

I wonder, thought the little queen, is Caspian going to be the same?

She could see her husband talking-a bit unwillingly-to that vile Prince Rabadash of Calormen. Then she watched as he finally got out of that unpleasant conversation and came towards her.

Poor Lucy was unsure of what she was supposed to do. Surely she loved him and was glad of his forgiveness, so she ought to thank him. But to thank him publicly, before everyone, regarding such a personal matter? That didn't sound right. She may have gotten a good many things wrong about court life, but only a complete fool would be half-witted enough not to realize that the whole court was trying to pretend that things were now as they had always been. And that wasn't part of the masque.

Besides, she would have felt sort of fake and untrue thanking him directly when she hadn't actually done what he thought she did. Yes, she had been alone with Edmund. Yes, she had kissed him. But Lucy knew she hadn't gone further than that; and she hated that no one-except Peter, and maybe Susan-believed her. Other than secretly meeting the knight who had once been her best friend back in the western woods, what reason had she given them to think she was sneaky and dishonest? All that had happened, well it looked pretty bad, but didn't anyone listen? Didn't anyone want to think she maybe-just maybe-was mostly innocent?

'Mostly' because she did feel things for that former knight. Even right then and there at the masque her thoughts were sometimes drifting away from her fear about her husband to how Edmund was getting on. The seed-pearls were still around her neck. What she had felt that morning on the hill...she knew she hadn't been making that up...or fooling herself...it was real...wrong, she knew, but real.

The king was before her now.

Upon wobbly knees, her face gone white and her chin shaking, Lucy sank into a deep curtsey; looking down, then-ever so slowly-up at her husband to take in his expression. At least, she could admit with a clear conscience, at that moment she hadn't been thinking about Edmund at all-only Caspian.

There was something vaguely hard and icy in his eyes; but the look softened as he took in how small and frightened she appeared, remembering why he had forgiven her to begin with. His little queen; his poor, sweet little queen. Aslan bless her-she was so young, she could still learn. In truth, the king still loved her, all the more reason to stand up and show his Lucy the gift of mercy.

King Caspian took Queen Lucy's hand and kissed it lightly, wrapping his fingers around the back of her cold-to-the-touch, trembling hand. "It is good to see you, Wife, I've missed you."

Speechless, Lucy swallowed hard and nodded weakly. She was afraid that if she tried to speak, she might just cry.

The king seemed to understand this and did not press her for a reply, rather, he took her hand and introduced her very solemnly to the royal visitors from the Lone Islands. Tarkheena Lasaraleen had not come back yet, and there was no point in having her formally meet Prince Rabadash seeing as he was too busy shooting off Calormene swears peppered with threats-some nonsense about the 'bolt of Tash'-at a nobleman who had bumped into him, causing the hot-tempered prince to drop his wineglass onto the floor, where it broke with a light, almost musical-sounding trickle; so they danced to a few short songs for the look of the matter. A king and queen not dancing at a masque they themselves were supposed to be hosting would have seemed odd.

There was an unspoken awkwardness between the two; and though Lucy knew she had his forgiveness, she could tell quite plainly that in his eyes she was no longer the precious little wife who could do no wrong. He was as kind and polite as ever, his smiles every bit as considerate-save a bit forced, but that air of mild distrust still stood its ground.

I wonder, Lucy thought, if he ever will believe me-even years from now-when I tell him that Ed and I weren't together as they think we were.

After those few songs had ended, there was no more dancing; interest had waned a good deal on both sides. There wasn't much worthwhile conversation going on at the feasting tables (one noble tried to stuff a pickle up his nose, which was mildly amusing, but nothing beyond that). Rilian did call her 'mother' however close together his teeth had been when he said it, which she appreciated, having missed her stepson almost as much as her husband.

Mustering up her courage, Lucy tapped Caspian lightly on the shoulder.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

He was smiling, and his voice was tender-that was encouraging.

"I'm...I'm not feeling so well...do you think I could walk the corridors for a bit? I haven't seen them since..." Here her voice trailed off.

Caspian understood. "Yes, you may go, just don't stray too far off and remember to come back within the hour."

"Thank you," said Lucy, standing up and shaking a few crumbs off of the skirt of her velvet gown.

Unbeknownst to the little queen, Lord Sopespian grinned when he saw her get up, and nudged the elbow of the knight who had blackmailed her brother, Peter.

"Are you sure she'll find him?" whispered the knight, uncertainly.

"How can she possibly not?" said Lord Sopespian, beaming. "After all, the door's not even locked."

Sure enough, as Lucy strolled down the corridor, thinking things over, wondering how she was going to make it through this night and other future ones that would surely be just like it, she heard a sharp cry-nearly a scream-coming from a small chamber she was passing.

Wondering if perhaps one of the guests had hurt themselves, or else maybe a servant was in trouble, Queen Lucy put her hand on the doorknob and turned it quickly, peeking in.

It was mostly dark in there, but a candle on a nightstand shone brightly enough to reveal the slim outline of a young boy lying on the bed, his covers kicked to the floor. He was asleep and dreaming-nightmares, probably-and the scream must have come from him.

"Poor boy," murmured Lucy, coming closer. She found that he wasn't a little boy after all, rather, a young man, and-after three more steps towards the bed, her heart beginning to pound-she knew exactly who he was. "Edmund!"

He moaned in his sleep and his cheeks flushed a little bit, slightly moist with a light sweat.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Lucy climbed onto the bed beside him and lifted his head up into her lap, lightly moving a short lock of his dark hair that had curled like a ringlet and stuck to one of his temples away from his forehead.

Then, when he seemed to have relaxed, his breathing more comfortable and slow, she gently whispered, "Wake up,"

And, opening his eyes, seeing her hovering above him, he did indeed awaken; but he thought, at first, that he was dreaming still. For, you see, Edmund had seen Lucy Pevensie so many times in his dreams before-waking him up from his nightmares when his screams were not enough-that he cannot be blamed for thinking she wasn't really there.

He waited for her to fade away, as she always did-yet she remained. There were little tears in her eyes, a half-smile in the right-hand corner of her lips, and her gaze was steadily fixed on him, unwavering.

"Lucy?" Edmund blinked twice.

"Are you all right?" asked Lucy, looking concerned. "You look awful. Where were you?"

"In the dungeon, mostly," said Edmund, sparingly. "Then there was another chamber before this one, I think."

"If I'd known where you were, I would have tried to come see you, but they wouldn't tell me anything."

"You would have done better not to ask about me at all, Lu, knowing what they think."

"I know," said Lucy as Edmund started to sit up, taking his head out of her lap; "I was just worried about you." She took in the weak colour of his face, even in the poor light, and winced. "I say, Edmund, have you been ill?"

"A little," he admitted monosyllabically.

"I thought about you so often," Lucy told him in a shaky, faltering voice.

"There were times when you came to mind," said Edmund, rather grimly.

Lucy got the sense that Edmund was trying not to be too friendly with her. Which was more than understandable, considering what their friendship had recently resulted in, but it still left her feeling empty. Everything was all wrong, however worse it could have turned out, it was painful all the same.

Noticing the pain written all over Lucy's face as she looked away from him, still sitting on the bed, seeming very much as though she was trying not to cry, the old promise made by the brook popped into Edmund's mind. His distance hurt her; he was going back on his word. How complicated these things could be!

Wearily, Edmund sighed and added, "But that was only whenever I was breathing."

Lucy looked back at him blankly, unsure of what to say. If she weren't a married woman and a queen, she would have kissed him. But she could hardly do that under the circumstances, even if they were alone. After all, the memory of the morning after the eclipse was sharp-she didn't want to put them both in danger again.

Another thought came to Edmund's mind; that of the first time they'd met each other in the apple orchard after he had been knighted. Lucy had asked him why he never answered her letters. Only right then, all this long while later, he realized he had yet to answer her. He wasn't sure if he even could, if he could possibly explain. Were there words to describe his emotions as he had read each thought she put to paper over and over again? What was more, even if he could make her understand, should he? Perhaps it was better left an answered question. But, then, if something happened and he never saw Lucy again, could he stand knowing that he'd never even tried to tell her? He was no longer a knight, not really welcome at court, and she was a queen-the chances of them ever having another opportunity to talk were slim.

"I wish..." Lucy stammered, staring at her childhood companion's pale face intently, "...I wish things were different."

Edmund took a deep breath. "Nine thousand, nine hundred, and eighty-one."

The little queen's brow crinkled. "What?"

"That's how many words total were in the letters you wrote to me after you were taken away as a bride to be queen at Cair Paravel," Edmund touched the side of her arm once, very lightly, and then pulled away, leaving such a wide gap that at least two people and a dwarf could have sat comfortably between them. "I've counted them many times."

Lucy felt a shiver run up and down her spine, pulling herself closer to him, filling the gap.

"Lucy, I'm sorry, I just wanted you to know." Edmund reluctantly put his arm around her shaking shoulders to steady them.

"When did you know?" she asked quietly.

"Know what?"

"How you felt?" Her cheeks went very red.

"I can't say for sure...I realized it when my stepmother first told me you were getting married...but I think...I think...deep down...I knew before then."

"I miss the Lantern Waste," Lucy said; "and the lamppost, and the stone wall."

"We never had a chance, it's a shame." Edmund sighed.

Lucy's arms wrapped around his middle; and his other arm pulled her closer, holding her in a full-on embrace now.

"Ed?"

"Yes?"

"Are you scared?"

He paused, thinking for a moment. To tell the truth or to lie? What was the point of lying about it? "Yes."

"Were you this scared in Calormen...when you were at school there?"

This was something Edmund still never wanted to talk about, and yet he almost did want to tell Lucy-maybe just a little bit. "Sometimes; but in a different way. It's worse being scared here, knowing I lose you either way, that I lost you a long time ago. In Calormen, I was just afraid I would be beaten-and, well, I was."

"Did the guards ever beat you like that in the dungeon here?" she wanted to know; not sure if she would ever be able to forgive herself if they had. Edmund may have thought everything that happened was his fault, but Lucy wasn't convinced.

"No," said Edmund.

"Why did you count every word I wrote?"

"Don't you know?"

Lucy's chin quivered. "I think I can guess, Edmund, but I'm not sure why it's so."

"Lucy," he said, in his head trying to remind himself, even as he spoke to her as Lucy Pevensie, that it would be wrong to kiss her again-as much as he wanted to. "You saw something in me when I treated you like dirt, when I didn't want you...dear Aslan, I don't know what it was, but it made me want to be better, though I never told you that. I still to this day have no idea what you saw in me then."

"The peppermint," said Lucy, simply, as if it were obvious.

"You always did appreciate the simplest-seemingly meaningless-things. That's why I missed you and read your letters so many times-that's why I counted. Because you're smart, brave, understanding, sweet, beautiful, kind, everything I could never be, everything I wanted to try to be anyway, and-"

A small squeak escaped Lucy's throat as she leaned against Edmund's chest, resting in his arms, wishing she never had to leave them. "And I love you."

There it was. The question she hadn't wanted to answer; she'd answered it.

Unfortunately, she had unwittingly done so in front of the visitors from the Lone Islands, a drunk Prince Rabadash, Lord Sopespian, Prince Rilian, and her husband, King Caspian of Narnia. Suddenly they were all standing in the now-open doorway; all of them saw her and knew who she was with. And they'd all heard what the young woman who was supposed to be Narnia's queen, loyal to King Caspian, just said every bit as clearly as Edmund had.

AN: Hey, um, nice reader peoples? I'm feeling a little down, so if any of you feel like trying to cheer a sad writer up, I think a review might make me feel better.