Small village somewhere near the Cauldron Pool.

Lia.

Lia knew should cast Cyrus from her mind, for despite his wayward gaze and barbed words, he'd done naught to hurt her. She had so been looking forward to the night, so she would make sure she enjoyed it. She would not dwell on what-ifs.

Grey-green dryad eyes surveyed the couples that danced around the fires. She felt as if she had borne her soul to the emerald-eyed stranger, and she did not yet know her name.

The bonfires brought forth a golden light, a merry echo of the stars above, and of the moon that shone upon them in all its glory. Around and around the dancers twirled, far closer than would be seen in any ballroom of Cair Paravel. But still, she could not see the strangers.

Though she had a fair inclination of where they had disappeared to – just as many couples would disappear throughout the night. She had seen the dusting of icing upon the man's lips, a sure sign that he had already partaken in some of the rose-sweets she had brought for the feast. They were given as a gesture of hospitality, generosity and celebration. Made of nightrose, though only a sprinkle, it would induce euphoria, to lower one's inhibitions.

The dryads made them, and protected the wild crop of nightrose within their grove so none other may use them. The tree-mothers gift to the celebrations.

For there was a reason that the May Day celebrations were known to be so…amorous.

Lia chucked to herself.

The rose-sweets were sure to get the blood pumping.

And then she caught sight of them, returning from the shadowed wood by the clearing. She waved, catching the emerald-eyed woman's gaze.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Lia's brow was arched, but the emerald-eyed woman did not blush, instead just flashed her a grin and did not even bother to smooth her already dishevelled dark curls. The woman looked like a magical sprite of nature given flesh, those dark emerald eyes reflecting the light of the fires. And that feeling came over her again, the feeling that the woman before her was something else, something other. Something she knew was magical.

And powerful.

For everything within her screamed at her that she needed to revere the woman, more so now surrounded by the open air and the trees, with the churning of the Cauldron Pool a background rumble.

"I will not let him lay a hand upon you," the woman said, almost as if she had pried into her mind and read her earlier thoughts. "Enjoy yourself, Lia. And I will stay close."

And then her man was pulling on her hand once more – a smile upon his face. And though she was not entirely knowledgeable about the world and the goings-on about this beyond her grove and the village; she knew that they were somehow important to Narnia, and that they very much deserved that night to relax, to let go.

Their dance was not as wild as those around them, but Lia felt as if she needed to avert her eyes; for the air was practically alive between the pair, neither able to hide the heat in their eyes.

"Melia, may I have this dance?"

Lia blinked, so absorbed had she been in watching the pair, she'd not noticed the young man who had approached her. The miller's son, a pleasant lad, with kind eyes and a nice face. So she smiled at him and let him take her hand.

Her sisters would be green with envy.

…

Arianna.

Fire raced through her veins in lieu of water that night and instead of draining her, she felt as if the fires gave her life. The celebrations reminded her of the feasts the northerners threw. The heavy pounding of the drums reverberated through her. And nothing could compare to the smile that Edmund wore upon his face – the riches and splendour of Cair Paravel did not compare. He did not need plush velvets, or his silver crown. His rough-hewn shirt and crown of leaves were enough for her. As long as he kept looking at her like that.

His hands, if they left hers, were upon her waist, or her neck, or her face; his face never too far from her own.

The fire was in his veins that eve.

She lost herself in the dance, twirling lithely about Edmund's body with a smile upon her face that she did not try to hide. A smoky haze fell over the clearing, whether it was the smoke from the fires, or whether it was the honey-mead dulling her senses she could not quite tell. Somewhere in the back of her mind a voice was telling her to stay alert, to stop, but she pushed it to the side, letting all inhibitions go as she danced with her husband.

The ground trembled slightly under her feet as she swayed, lost in the merry tune of the fiddle and the primal beating of the drums. She swayed her hips to the rhythm, leaning into Edmund's body as he held her steady. Her body fit itself perfectly against his, as if she were made for him.

It was almost midnight when he pulled her away, leading her to one of the tables. She smiled up at him dreamily as her head spun, laughing once more as her world tilted to the side with a sudden rush.

She looked up into his face and all she could see were those dark cocoa eyes.

"A drink, perhaps?" she said with a small grin. A break, perhaps, her eyes told him. But the table where the food was laid was not too far from where the young dryad danced with a villager and she had promised she would keep an eye on her.

"Whatever you wish, my queen," he murmured against her lips before brushing them with his own. Lingering, caressing. Sending another jolt straight through her.

And then something was placed upon her head and her hand went to it immediately, her eyes snapping open.

It was another dryad who was giggling, skipping away. "A garland, for good luck. Sow a few seeds for to bless the crops."

"We've already sown a few," Edmund murmured into the shell of her ear, though not loud enough for the dryad to hear. "Would you like to see your crown, my queen?"

He plucked it off her head – a pretty ring of large white blossoms. It was not her crown of silver and diamonds, fashioned to look like holly leaves and aconite flowers. But for that night, it was all she needed. And just as he had before, Edmund placed the crown upon her head – his smile just as bright as it had been that night.

Until the stars rained down from the heavens.

"Come, my queen, let us partake in the feast." And though his eyes told her he would far prefer to partake in other activities, she let him lead her to the tables.

It was not a feast of meats and roasted foods. It was simpler. Lighter. Fruits and sweets and spun sugar. Bowls of sparkling mead and flowers strewn across the array of foods.

"This is far better than any other Turkish delight I've ever had, you have to try some."

She gingerly took the small rose-coloured sweet off him, idly noting that it was covered with some sort of powder that stopped it from sticking to her fingers. His eyes did not leave hers as she raised it to her mouth and took a small bight, surprised as sweetness burst over her tongue, leaving a tingling in its wake. And then burning heat shuddered through her when his gaze dropped to her lips.

Oh fuck.

He was reaching for her once more, with abandon, without a care for who would see them; the sweets forgotten. Without a care for who would whisper. For all they would see as he kissed her, deeply and desperately, was a man very much in love with his wife.

…

Lia.

She snorted, laughing to herself as she caught sight of the strangers by the table. She wished more than anything for a love like that, though she did not need it just quite yet.

Giddiness shot through her and she was naught but a girl of two and ten again, winning her first match against her fighting instructor that her tree-mother had organised just for her. For the night was turning out to be everything she had hoped.

The miller's son was smiling at her, his dark eyes shining with appreciation. And in that moment, it did not matter that she was not as beautiful as her sisters, not as soft – for he appreciated her, he was dancing with her with that look in his eyes.

She twirled and twirled and twirled in the cloak he had placed around her shoulders.

…

Darius.

Darius could not keep the smile from his face as he watched her– her head tilted back, her eyes closed, her cheeks flushed with the soft green as she lost herself to the song.

She pressed her empty tankard into his hands; a flash of grey-green eyes and a cheeky smile and she was gone. Ash-brown locks swirling out in a waterfall of curls. Her colour was as high as her spirits – a result of the three tankards she'd downed in quick succession, no doubt. He knew that if she paused for too long, the insecurities would creep into those large, exotic eyes.

And so she kept dancing and singing, linking arms with the other women, weaving around the stranger she had befriended, with the golden skin and too-green eyes.

He gulped down his own ale, trying to banish from his mind the image of her face so close to his own. Her eyes had been so wide, so earnest, looking up at him from beneath the hood of his own cloak. Her lips had parted slightly, and her breath had stilled.

He groaned, running a hand through his unkept curls, ignoring the fluttering lashes of the other women who danced near him.

He'd not yet had any of the dryads sweet-treats wanted nothing more in that moment than to take her into his arms and kiss her.

He finished the tankard, slamming it on the table, and as if summoned by his thoughts, Lia appeared before him, laughing and out of breath. She looked like a winsome sprite, created by his own imagination, in the dress that she'd not changed since the markets earlier that day, her hair spilling around her and her cheeks flushed.

"Dance with me."

He couldn't say no, not when she smiled at him like that, holding her hands out for him. Not when she fit in his arms so perfectly, twirling around each other.

The music danced around them with the other villagers.

"Darius," her voice was soft, as were her eyes when he pulled back slightly so he could see her upturned face.

"Yes, little dryad?"

"Kiss me."

…

Lia.

It was everything she had ever wanted it to be. The honey-mead on his tongue, the soft touch of a hand in her hair, the other grasping her waist.

She felt wanted.

She felt as if she were the temptation.

Not beautiful Velutina, or soft-spoken Caroliniana.

She, Melia, was the temptation.

One that he could no longer resist.

And what a kiss it was.

She giggled, unable to help herself, looking up into his dark eyes.

"Melia!" The voice was panicked, out of breath and Lia pulled back.

It was Lini, her eyes were bright with unshed tears, her face ashen. "I cannot find Vela anywhere," her voice cracked.

"What has happened?" As if summoned by dryad's distress, the emerald-eyed woman was there.

Darius did not let go of her, but she could not appreciate the concern in his face.

"I went to get a drink and when I returned, she was gone. And I cannot find her." Lini was shaking slightly, like branches in the wind, looking more fragile than Lia had ever seen her older sister. "I've looked everywhere."

The emerald-eyed woman stiffened as if she'd been doused with frigid waters, her eyes full of rage. "Where is Cyrus? Where is the hunter?"

Lia stared at the woman as she felt it, a prickling along her skin.

The crackling of magic in the air.

The woman's eyes burned, but not like fire.

They burned like the frozen kiss of winter.