At night, she would let her walls down. She grew weary and tired of her act.
All of these men coming and going, playing with her emotions as she toyed with theirs. She liked the attention, relished in it even...
But at the end of the day, she thought about none of them. Not one.
She was caught in a game of superficiality and pride, each nobleman showing off his gold, bragging about his riches, promising her fairy-tales and romances.
Romance. She hadn't yet learned the meaning of the word, didn't quite believe in it's existence, only knew it as another type of weapon.
She'd realized her art for flirtation by accident, never knowing to the full extent what sort of hold she could have on a man's heart.
Playing the temptress was fun at first. She hadn't meant for it to continue as long as it had. But by then, she came to realize the diplomatic advantage she had with this new game she'd created.
Hope was the key. As long as she could keep them hoping and wishing, thinking they could win her over, she had the upper hand.
And so she continued to play the game, day after day.
But one can only keep playing for so long.
At night, he heard her heart cry.
Stationed outside her doors, his sense of hearing grew exponentially acute. He grew accustomed to seeing with his imagination.
He saw her in his mind's eye, hair wild and black and tangled, spilling over her cream-white shoulders and crimson nightgown. Her crown laid at her feet, knees buckling under the pressures of her world, bent with weariness.
He saw her as the girl she truly was; helpless, but unyielding. Lost, yet determined.
He knew her heart. He knew what it longed for.
Rest.
It was on one particular night that he'd done the unthinkable: he momentarily left his post.
It was his overwhelming concern for her that made him do it. A concern that overpowered his sense of duty, which he found himself failing to keep strong.
He came back with a steaming mug of rosewood tea, sure to put her to sleep, and a blanket made of downy cashmere, a contrast to her usual heavy, woolen bedding.
A soft knock, an unnerving minute of silent anticipation, and the sound of the door opening.
"Yes, what is it?" A timid, watery voice muttered into the darkness. He cleared his dry throat.
"Some things to cure your...insomnia." He replied, keeping his voice quiet. "Your Majesty."
He hoped she could see the items he was holding in the light of the small lantern hanging on the wall, just above his head.
She studied him for a moment, squinting as she waited for her eyesight to adjust. She let out a small sigh as recognition set in and leaned her head against the door frame, a hint of a smile forming in the corners of her trembling lips.
She looked just as he'd imagined her, black tresses in a mess of curls, head bare of her glistening crown, pale thin hands clutching the deep red fabric of her gown- so unlike the glorious picture she was during the day.
"Thank you, that's very considerable of you." She mumbled, reaching out for the soft blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders. She took the mug next, breathing in the drowsy scent of the tea.
He watched as she took in the smell, closing her translucent eyelids, and dared to ask the question that was foremost on his mind.
"Is there anything troubling you, Your Highness?" He dropped his voice to a whisper, hoping not to frighten her away.
She looked up at him with an inquisitive stare, not expecting such attentiveness and discernment. He felt immediately outside his boundaries, wondering what in the name of Aslan made him think that a Queen would care to share her deepest thoughts with someone like him.
But he'd only sought to ease her pain...and she could clearly see that.
She hesitated before answering and he could tell she was contemplating giving him a false answer, getting ready to reach for one of her masks.
"I'm afraid so." She finally replied with all sincerity. "But then again, troubles haunt everyone, don't they? Not just monarchs..." Her eyes looked beyond him, into the black abyss of night.
"Anything I can help with?" He justified his offer as part of his duty in serving the queen. But there was nothing he wanted more than just to share her burdens in the hopes of maybe lightening them someday.
His question drew her focus back to him and he noticed a new kind of look on her face, one of astonishment, a raw sort of shock, not the feigned surprise he'd often seen when she was presented with gifts from her suitors.
"You've done enough for one night. You've calmed a restless soul." She offered him a pure smile filled with complete gratitude, free of all teasing and flirtation.
It was with that smile that he realized he was staring at the actress herself, not any of her characters. This was the real Susan.