AN: First things first; the answer to the challenge I gave my readers in my AN at the end of the last chapter. The answer is: "Devdas and Parvati" from "Devdas" (I also would have accepted, "Devda and Paro" -same difference). And the only reviewer to guess and get it right was VampyKaee23. Second things second; I'm going to ask my readers to take a bit of a leap of faith so to speak with me on this one...there are some things in this chapter that may make a few of you feel like throwing things at me (nothing hard, please, I bruise very easily, and no pitchforks because the sharp ends...they scare me...LOL).

Lucy sat in her white-walled rooms, staring into the fire as it faded into naught but embers. She thought about getting up off of her chair and prodding at the maple-wood logs with the fire-tongs, but there wasn't much need for it. It was actually the responsibility of the ladies-in-waiting to keep the fire going when there weren't any lower servants around, but, since it was a warm day and none of them were cold enough so that they wanted to re-light it for themselves, and they would have rather let Lucy be cold if not directly ordered otherwise-still despising her-they did nothing.

There was a knock at the doors. Thinking it was Trufflehunter, perhaps with a letter from the king or some word about what was happening outside of the chambers she never left, Lucy stood, the folds of her blackish-blue taffeta-and-brocade dress dropping in half-neat, half-messy bunches at her ankles as she rose.

It was not the badger manservant after all; it was a golden-haired young man in fine clothes, a circlet of silver around his forehead.

"Prince Rilian," the ladies bowed.

Lucy was uncertain of how to address him, hoping he would speak first so she would be able to better-guess what she ought to say.

"Mother," he said unexpectedly, but very stiffly, his teeth quite close together, his hands behind his back, and his face pale with a quieter sort of fury than Lucy had ever seen in him before.

"M-my son," stammered Lucy.

"I've come to tell you something," said the prince.

"Yes?" Lucy's voice quivered.

"Edmund Philippe is dead, I'm sorry if this hurts you."

The room spun before her eyes, the world a massive white blur, her throat aching with unreleased screams. The little queen blinked at her stepson in an almost uncomprehending fashion.

"From what I hear he died instantly," said Rilian. "My father did not have to be so kind."

"Your father?" Lucy felt her stomach lurch. "What...wasn't it...the executioner on the scaffold?"

"No," Rilian explained, "my father did not wish to put his former knight through the humiliation of a public beheading, though his advisors encouraged him to do so."

Tears streaming down her face, Lucy choked out, "You mean he...Caspian...Caspian was the one who killed Edmund?"

Not so cold-blooded as he was trying to seem, Rilian swallowed hard, his face reflecting some mild pity for his stepmother, then nodded slowly.

"Oh, Aslan," sobbed Lucy, thinking of her dearest friend being killed-beheaded as a traitor-by her own husband.

"He went quickly, Mother, I hope that will help you sleep easier at night if nothing else."

As if in a trance, Lucy wadded awkwardly back to her chair and collapsed into its seat, her face drained of all colour, her legs too weak to hold her up. She looked smaller than ever, and Rilian-however furious he was about her betraying his father-had something of an urge to pat her shoulder in a comforting manner.

But before he could touch her, the queen murmured, "Leave me, I want to be alone. Tell my ladies to go away, too."

"You aren't going to ask what has been decided for you?" asked Rilian, surprised.

"It doesn't matter," whispered Lucy. She had nothing left now; her brother was in the countryside, her husband had killed the man she loved, and her dearest friend was dead. What did it matter what they did with her? They might behead her, too, though she figured it was more likely that she would be sent away. Either way, nothing mattered.

"I will leave you now, Mother, but I wish you to know that-if something happens and you are removed from being queen, no longer my stepmother-I will harbor no more angry thoughts against you or your dead lover. I won't forget you, but I will always think of you as you are now, a poor child in despair, and I will pray for you."

Lucy didn't reply; she didn't even look at him out of the corners of her eyes. She appeared, behind her blank, shocked, dull eyes, vaguely like she wanted to say, "Leave me," again but was simply too weak in sprit to form the words for a second time.

"I don't know what my father means to do with you," said Rilian, for the sake of clearing his conscience. "I have held back no great secrets as far as I know."

Although she was hardly even listening, Lucy managed a small nod-still not looking at him.

For a week's time, Queen Lucy sat in her chair (which she had moved from the fireplace hearth to the barred window) and gazed expressionlessly at the little particles in the air where the trickles of sunlight hit them, making the little dirt-specks glow like fairydust. She kept crying, unable to make herself stop, but she never felt the tears against her skin as they slid down like rain-she was completely numb.

During the first two days she didn't touch the golden plates of food Trufflehunter brought to her. Lucy looked down at them passively as if she barely even knew what she was supposed to do with the colourful fruit dishes and the hart and the dead fowl being served to her. Eventually hunger over-took her and she realized, even if Edmund was dead, she wasn't-not yet. She was still subject to mortality and to eating. Nearly starving, she stuffed a piece of bread into her mouth. It tasted like sawdust. She forced down two more rolls, gagged, and then waved the plate away; a fresh round of tears falling into it like little splinters of glass clinking on the precious metal.

She didn't wash or change her clothes for four of the seven days that dragged by meaninglessly, though she knew she was starting to smell. Eventually some of the kinder-natured ladies-in-waiting and chambermaids were able to coax her into a bath and into shedding the sweaty dark-coloured dress she hadn't bothered to remove.

The bath-water had been heated over the fireplace, so it was very warm-nearly hot-when the little queen slipped into it, yet she rested in it for so long-childishly shooing away the ladies' hands that reached out by the hour to help her up-that by the time she willed herself to climb out, she was freezing. She threw a plain white night-dress over herself and then pulled a gold-thread dressing-gown over it, loosely fastening the robe in place with a silk belt. Lucy then consented to take a few sips of tea and lie in her bed for the night; but by the morning she was in her chair, gazing at nothing, again. The queen had become thoroughly unreachable.

Finally, at the week's end, the king came to see her.

By this point, Lucy was beginning to get over the worst of the nightmares. When she heard a strange sound in the night, she no longer shot up in bed and lit a candle, frightened from a dream about Edmund standing on the scaffold, having to remind herself that he was already dead and had never even been on a scaffold to begin with. When there was a gossipy whisper among the ladies-in-waiting, she didn't secretly incline her ear thinking that it was something about her husband or her stepson. When a non-talking courtyard dog barked at someone's arrival, she didn't think it was her brother back from the countryside come to take her away from this place where she had slowly come to know so many horrors. The broken-hearted little queen knew the truth; she was completely and utterly alone. Not that she cared. Not anymore. At least, not as much.

So when Caspian knocked on the doors, Lucy didn't jump out of her seat-she barely flinched. Slowly, she let her eyes drift over to the guest and saw who he was. Her ladies were surprised when the queen didn't rise and curtsey to the king, especially since she was in disgrace, but Caspian seemed to understand. Not that it mattered what the ladies-in-waiting thought, considering that shortly after his arrival, he looked very hard at them, then at the small queen, and ordered, "Leave us."

"Lucy," he said, walking over to her chair and crouching down beside it.

"Sire," she managed feebly.

"Rilian told you?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"You killed him," whispered Lucy, actually looking directly into his eyes now, as if searching for some kind of remorse. "He didn't...I told you he didn't...that I...that we...and you...you..."

"Please try to understand,"

"This is my fault, isn't it?"

"What?"

"That Edmund's gone," she said softly, more tears flowing down her cheeks. "If I hadn't told him that I loved him, no one would have-"

"You're young," said Caspian, "you didn't realize...I'm sorry I was so angry with you before."

"I don't understand why you had to kill him," murmured Lucy. "If he had to..." -her voice gave way- "...if he had to be...why not have it done by someone else?"

"I had a reason," said Caspian, sighing gravely. "I believe sooner than you think, you will understand. I am sorry that I had to hurt you now, though."

"You don't hate me?" asked Lucy.

"No, of course not, I love you-I wasn't lying before when I told you that."

"Did you hate Edmund?" She felt that she had to know. If Caspian had killed her friend, taken a nearly-innocent life, simply out of hate and anger, she knew she could never forgive him. But if it had only been a matter of state, things weren't as black-and-white.

"No," said Caspian; "I would have called him my friend once, before he betrayed me over you."

"He was innocent." She didn't completely hate her husband-how could she when he had always been so kind to her?-but she couldn't look at him, not right then. She turned half-way in her chair and stared at the wall.

"He said the same thing about you," the king told her.

"Did they bury him already?" Lucy asked after a pause, her lower lip trembling.

"He isn't going to have a funeral, Lucy," Caspian explained patiently; "he was a traitor, no one will..." his voice trailed off.

"What about his sister?" Lucy demanded, her eyes flashing, not quite so dull now. "And his father? And his stepmother?"

"I do not believe they would do this country the dishonour of attending something regarding a man who betrayed his king."

Feeling cold down into her very bones, Lucy asked, "Where's his body, then?"

"Cremated," said Caspian, a little too quickly.

This was too much for Lucy; her shoulders began to shake violently.

Her husband put his hand on her arm. Forgetting for a moment that he was the king, and her loving husband besides, she shrugged it off.

"I need to tell you something else, something I didn't want you to hear from rumour before I told you myself." Caspian said when Lucy's shivering and weeping lessened a bit.

Lucy sat still, straight up in the chair, looking like a tiny, stiff, pale-faced china doll. Holding her breath, a bland expression returning to her face, she waited to hear what he had to say.

"You are not going to be queen anymore," his voice was shaky now. "I couldn't...couldn't manage to keep you...but I've...I have made other arrangements."

"Will you send me to the countryside?" If she could be with Peter again, maybe being sent away would be more of a blessing than a curse. She missed her brother dreadfully.

The king shook his head. "No, Lucy, not the countryside."

"Back to the Lantern Waste?" She hoped he would say no. To have to live day after day in exile in the very place all of her memories with Edmund rested might just drive her round the bend straight to madness.

"No," said Caspian, his tone still grave, "you don't understand...I'm not just...I mean...you won't be my wife anymore...do you see?"

"You've gotten a new wife?"

Caspian closed his eyes, sighed deeply, and nodded. "I'm sorry, I didn't have a choice."

"Who is she?"

"The daughter of the Duke of Galma."

"Have I met her?"

Caspian thought for a moment. "No, I don't think so."

"Oh."

"But I'm marrying her the day after you're..." he looked anxious, "...going on the scaffold."

"I'm going to die, too?"

"No," he reached out and grabbed her wrists, holding them just tightly enough so that she couldn't pull away, but gently so that he wasn't hurting her. "Listen, here's how it will work. You go up there as planned-don't look as if you had any hope-and kneel like you believe you are about to be beheaded. But, now this is important, Lucy, if you want to live you have to remember this, all right? You look up at me right before the sword comes down and wait for my signal; when you see me raise my finger with the royal signet ring on it, duck and grab onto the executioner's legs. The reason you are to wait for my signal is because that is the one moment when-if you duck-the sword will definitely miss you."

"What then?" breathed Lucy, dejectedly.

"Then I will spare you publicly," he said. "It will all be done in a manner that will not make me appear weak, as though I could not control my own wife and kingdom, but it will show you the justice you deserve as well. You do not deserve to die, Lucy."

Edmund didn't either, Lucy thought, though she didn't say this out loud, as the king was still explaining his plan.

"Our marriage will have to be annulled, but I will make all the preparations for that to be done swiftly and properly. I do not think your parents will be pleased, having had a daughter on the throne and then having her sent away and replaced, but the crown will be generous towards them, you have my word on that."

"If you aren't sending me to them-or to my brother-where am I going after you annul the marriage?" For the first time since she had lost Edmund, Lucy began to fell true, unadulterated fear curdling in her stomach. She thought she would almost rather die for real-if only the thought of having one's head cut off didn't sound so very painful-than to live in uncertain misery.

"Now here is a secret, Lucy, you cannot tell anyone, do you understand?"

She nodded.

"You are going to be married again."

A light breeze passing by at that moment could have knocked Lucy right off her chair in the stunned state she found herself in. Married? Again? To who? If she was being disowned by the king for so-called disgraceful conduct after her accused lover was executed, then why would anyone allow her to marry again? Why would anybody else even want to be her husband; if the king of Narnia himself could not keep her?

"I have given your ship, The Dawn Treader, to a young man who, like yourself, is in sore-straights with this country and needs to leave for a while. He is not man of title, only a nobody. He will be something like a captain on the ship, all but in name, having some more experienced crew members-all carefully chosen so that neither of you will come to any harm with them. You can travel at sea, which I didn't think you would mind anyway, for seven years. Then, when everything here has blown over, you can come back. I would not recommend announcing your arrival at court, even then, but you can live in Narnia peacefully after that. You won't have any titles or fancy things, but you'll have your life. And your husband will look after you."

Lucy felt faint. On the one hand she would love to go sailing-and to get away from all of the people who now thought ill of her-but, on the other, she was terrified. She would have another arranged marriage-to some sort of criminal, at best. Caspian seemed to think the man would be good to her, but that didn't make the notion any less frightening. What if she didn't like him? She would be trapped on that little ship-not even her ship anymore, but, rather, her new husband's-with him, whether she got along with him or not.

Part of Lucy wanted to throw herself down at Caspian's feet and beg him not to leave her; that she was sorry for hurting him and for making him look weak, but she simply could not bear the strain of another arranged marriage. She had been lucky to some extent the first time; married to someone she at least liked, who treated her well. The chances of doing so well a second time were slim. Yet the queen knew she could do nothing; nor could the man who was her husband only for a little while longer. It was done. Her fate was sealed. Again.

"Lucy," said Caspian, seeing her fear, still holding her hands, "do you trust me?"

"I-" She did trust him; but she feared his arrangements as well. If that even made any sense. It was impossible to explain.

"This is for the best," said the king. "I am doing this for you, remember that."

Meanwhile, Peter sat outside of his manor in the countryside, sipping a glass of lemonade, waiting hopefully for the post. It was a quiet day; most days were when you lived as far away from everything as he did. He felt he would have liked the silence much more if it didn't give him so much time to reflect on all that was going wrong. News took a long time to reach him out there; and he worried about his sister, Queen Lucy of Narnia, constantly. He had heard only the day before that his brother-in-law had been killed on charges of high-treason; and he and his wife had cried for him; but the truth was, he feared for Lucy even more. He was distraught over Edmund's death-for they had been good friends-but the former knight was already gone, there was nothing left to be done there, Lucy's fate was seemingly undecided.

More than anything, Peter wanted to rush off and go to his sister's side, but he needed to think of his wife, too. Lady Susan was with child as he had thought, much more dramatically pregnant now. He couldn't let the court pull her in for questioning, or risk putting anything regarding their-now somewhat merger-resources on the line. Still, he swore to himself, that the moment Lucy appeared to be in actual danger, worse than being replaced or sent away, he would go to her. Nothing would stop him. But as for right then, Peter knew he had to wait and see. A queen could not be executed as passively as a nobody who had once been a knight was; it was simply not done that way. There would be plenty of warning; enough time for him to sweep in and save his sister if the matter became truly dire.

In the distance, kicking up clouds of sandy-brown dust, a horse ridden by a squire bearing the royal Lion's-head crest was approaching the manor.

Peter stood and went over to greet him.

"Whoa!" shouted the squire, pulling back on his horse's reins as the beast reared slightly.

When the horse had recovered, the squire took a letter from his doublet pocket and handed it to Peter. "From the king, Sir, I'm to watch you read it, and then to burn it afterwards."

Quickly, Peter tore open the letter and read it. His eyes widened.

It said:

Sir Peter,

Greetings.

I hope you and your wife are well. Things are not easy at court as of the moment, but I am sure you know that already.

I am writing to you because I feared that when the news of your sister going to the scaffold reached you, you would naturally feel the need to come to her.

I assure you that she will not die, that I mean to spare her and to bring no harm to her whatsoever, but I urge you not to come to court.

The Pevensies are not a family well-liked here at the moment and I do not wish for you to be caught in the middle.

Please know I did truly love your sister and mean her no ill-will. She will be safe, though no longer my wife or Narnia's Queen.

Aslan bless you and your wife, may your life be free of the suffering that others like you have come to face.

-King Caspian of Narnia.

Less than an hour later (after the letter had been burned), Peter began stuffing some things-clothes, shoes, traveler's food, and other provisions-into a satchel.

Susan found him doing this and asked him just where exactly he thought he was going.

"To Lucy," said Peter, as though it was obvious.

"But," Susan's brow crinkled as she pressed one hand to her rounded belly (she was thinking, if it was a boy in there, of perhaps calling him Edmund), "I thought the king told you not to come to court."

"And I wont go into the castle or the courtyard ground at all," Peter promised her, kissing his wife tenderly on the forehead. "I have our interests at heart, too, but I need to make sure she's going to be all right. The faux-execution is public anyway. I can stand in the crowds without being seen."

Susan sighed and placed one of her hands over his, noticing that it was shaking slightly. "You don't think the king will keep his word?"

"I know he will," said Peter, smiling grimly; "but...I don't know...I just have to be there...after what happened...I just need to see her spared with my own eyes before I believe it."

There was a quiet pause where neither of them said anything.

Then, Peter whispered, "Su, this is when I need you to tell me I'm not crazy."

She leaned against his arm. "You're not."

"Thank you."

"You need to go, then."

"Yes," said Peter, reaching up with his free hand and stroking the side of her face. "As soon as possible."

"I'm going with you," she told him.

"Susan, no." He shook his head and gazed at her in a tender, protective manner.

"Peter, I'm going with you."

He gave in and rubbed his thumb against her cheek again. "All right."

AN: (leaves and comes back with a helmet and an insurance card) Okay, reviewers, let me have it.