Susan frowned as she pushed aside yards of beautiful fabric in her wardrobe. Dresses, tunics, breeches, skirts… and yet none of these were what she was looking for. Furrowing her brow in frustration, she crossed her arms as she stared down the clothing.
"Looking for something, Susan?" asked Peter as he strolled into his sister's chamber. None of the sibling monarchs stood on the formalities of announcing themselves, or even really knocking during the daylight hours. More often than not, Peter, Edmund, and Lucy all ended up in Susan's room by nightfall, eager to share their joys and fears with the only other people who could fully understand.
Susan turned to meet her brother's grey eyes, sighing as she turned her back on the offending wardrobe. "I was just looking for the purple."
An eyebrow raised, the High King looked to his sister in confusion. "Purple? Why not just wear the yellow one? Or the green? They look the best on you," he said. He had seen enough of his sister's wardrobe in the past few weeks of their rule to know the contents. The seamstresses, led by Mrs. Beaver, had clearly outdone themselves in eagerness to clothe their new monarchs. Peter's own shirt, made of the finest linen spun by dryads, was a piece of art by itself, even though it was intended only for wear under a much finer tunic. He sighed, still not used to the opulence as he fingered a pale blue dress that favored his sister.
Susan merely gave her brother an impatient sigh, though, as she plopped down on the delicate resting couch. "I just recalled something this morning while I was walking with Lucy out in the gardens. Isn't purple the color of royalty?" she asked. "That's what I recall from my histories. All monarchs have worn purple."
Her brother shrugged, turning to a book he had left in his sister's room the previous night. "Then go ask Mrs. Beaver for a purple dress," he said. "It shouldn't be any trouble. I'm sure they have the dye, and if they don't, you know those women would hunt to the edges of Narnia to find it for you," he added with a kind smile. Susan had gained a great deal of popularity amongst the women of court who were eager to have a woman whom they could model themselves after and offer as a guide to their daughters.
Susan bit her lip, looking away from her brother, and Peter sighed. "This isn't about a purple dress, is it?" he asked gently.
As she shook her head, the words began to come forth unbidden, eager to express the feelings of inadequacy and turmoil. "I just… I don't think I'm doing it right, Peter! All of these women are looking up to me and I haven't got an idea of what to do, yet they are so eager to help me and I haven't even got a proper royal dress and… and… I'm not cut out to be Queen!" she finished with a flustered wave of her arms.
To Susan's frustration, a smile crept across the boy-king's face, his grey eyes lighting up at his sister's exclamation.
"Well, you don't have to rub it in," Susan huffed, looking away with a pout.
The High King was quick to sober, his tone becoming quiet. "Rub what in, Su? Haven't you been listening these past few nights? None of us knows what we're supposed to do. Why, I question myself why in the world Aslan would've chosen me, of all people, to be High King of Narnia. I mean, I'm just a boy. I wasn't ever a Prince, I never learned how one's supposed to be a King." Peter fiddled with the hem of his tunic, picking at the delicate stitches which the sewers had worked so hard on.
It was the look on her brother's face that comforted Susan more than anything. Slowly she nodded, and began to turn her confusion into a calm acceptance. "Well, you're doing an admirable job of playacting. I'd say that you'd give the Dryads who were in the play about King Frank and Queen Helen a run for their money," she said with a small smile.
Peter gave a soft chuckle as he looked at his sister. "Everybody I've spoken to has nothing but glowing remarks about you, Susan. Nobody expects you to be perfect, only the best you can be," Peter replied as he laid a calloused hand on his sister's shoulder. "Purple or no purple."
The young queen broke into a wary smile as she placed her hand on her brother's. "Thank you, Peter," she said softly as she kissed his cheek in thanks. "You're going to be a king Narnia will remember forever."
Peter shrugged, taking Susan's hand. "Come on. The delegation from Beruna will have arrived by now," he said, moving towards the door.
Susan smiled, picking up a sash of purple that had become buried under the mess of her wardrobe and threw it gently back towards the other clothing.
"Purple really isn't my color, anyway."