Isamene was on her knees in the courtyard when he finally came to speak with her. She knew it was him by the way he stopped and waited, courteously as always, just outside of the area of smooth, white stone she'd only just finished scrubbing.

She ignored him.

"Isamene, you father is not pleased."

"Of course he's not," she answered shortly, rising slowly and wincing as her knees tried to seize up. That was the price one had to pay for clean courtyards, though, when one's family was too beggared to keep on the proper number of servants.

"He did want the match very badly."

She snorted. "My father, or his lovely wife?"

"Isamene…"

"Gurion," she replied, her tone just as exasperated. She finally looked him in the eye and was pleased to see the amusement written on his face. "You know it's true."

"Hmm. Perhaps. But I also know that it's not something that should be said lightly, truth or not."

"And why not? She can do nothing to me, other than try to marry me off. And we've both seen how well that came out." Isamene scooped up her bucket and untied her apron. Walking- or, more accurately, limping to where he waited, she forced both into his hands and stretched luxuriantly under the pleasant morning sun.

When she had stretched the stiffness from her back and neck, she turned an appraising eye on the morning's handiwork. It was clean enough, she supposed. And, more importantly, it was hers again. That great, foolish, careless party of lords and nobles and clingers-on to the king had finally moved on.

And the king himself, of course: he, too, was gone.

And that was the biggest relief.

For a week she'd watched as her home- the home that she labored so lovingly to maintain- was taken over and disrespected and absolutely bankrupt by both her father's mad designs on the throne and the king's general carelessness. What care had Caspian, King of Narnia, that his Duke was squandering his children's' future to host a great tourney? What care had Caspian, Liberator of Old Narnia, that his followers were destroying the house that was so unwillingly made available to them? She was glad they were gone; o, Aslan yes, and she wouldn't weep if she never saw her king and sovereign lord again.

Suddenly she asked, "How is my step-mother taking news of my… disappointment?"

Gurion choke on a laugh, and she smiled again. "The lady is… most distraught."

"Oh, yes," she murmured, rolling her eyes. "I am certain that she is. Foolish woman," she continued, "hoping that she could marry me off to the king so that her infant son can inherit my estate. As though I would ever allow that to happen."

And she would fight tooth and nail- and soul and life and death, too- to keep her claim on her father's estate. Narnian law said that the eldest child inherited, be they male or female. Isamene blessed the two Queens in the ancient tetrachy that had enabled such a law to exist. Her father's estate- the beautiful, beggared halls; the failing vineyards; the stunted forests- would all revert to her on her father's death.

Unless, of course, she married someone like King Caspian.

Which would, for this reason, never happen while she drew breath.

"She kept going on," Gurion added, "about how your freckled complexion and "notoriously squinting eyes" prevented the king from being pleased with you."

"Notoriously squinting eyes?" she repeated incredulously. "I should be offended, except, well, I'm not. Besides, the king failed to please me."

"Oh?"

"Indeed." Putting on her haughtiest manner, Isamene looked down her nose and said, " He is young, and is of a disposition to kill giants. I was most decidedly not pleased."

"Indeed."

She nodded, tired of the game. It had been a wearying week. "Truly. Had he expressed a desire to marry me, I don't know what I would have done. Refused him, I suppose, and been disowned by my father. I could never marry one such as the king. Imagine, a man who didn't know that the rushes in the banquet halls had to be changed."

"Imagine such a thing," Gurion murmured. "Scandalous."

"Now you're mocking me."

"Perhaps a bit."

She laughed, and looked back to her ancient, crumbling inheritance. There was still days' worth of cleaning to be done; gardening that needed immediate attention; servants to be assured that their pay would come, somehow; new rushes to be fetched.

But the king was gone, and Galma was hers again.