It had been two weeks since the Dawn Treader docked; two weeks since Caspian introduced Narnia to his bride, and his bride to Narnia. He'd offered her his hand, to walk onto the dock together, and all of Narnia had cheered; he'd seen several of his people crying while smiling.

Caspian knew why. It was impossible not to look at his wife and marvel.

But it had, after all, only been two weeks. Narnia did not know her very well yet. That could be changed, and Caspian (and Trumpkin, Drinian, and the rest) had several ideas as to how.

Trumpkin had suggested a wedding—as long as he didn't have to plan it. But Caspian had married the Star's daughter on the island, the feast nearby, and her father officiating. It had seemed fitting; and it made quarters on board ship simpler on the way home.

Drinian suggested a feast, but Trumpkin pointed out that wouldn't let her meet more than the people at her table, plus a few others. And while several Narnians came visiting Cair Paravel on the flimsiest of reasons (Caspian particularly liked the mother Robin hunting for something—she forgot what—her fledgling dropped), Caspian wanted to give a reason to the Narnians too polite to do so.

So he suggested a ball.

Trumpkin muttered under his breath, and Drinian rolled his eyes, but they split the work three ways—Trumpkin got the cook, Drinian got the maid in charge of spare bedrooms, and Caspian got the steward who would handle decorating.

It took four or five hours, and that was it, before the news had spread, and Narnian after Narnian came to help cook, help decorate, or help clean. They all wanted to be a part of welcoming their new Queen.

Which was all well and good, Caspian thought to himself as he tripped over a mouse stuck halfway out from under a dresser, cleaning out the gathered dust, and the King offered his apology. But that doesn't let me do anything to welcome her.

Partly because he couldn't find her. She went around the castle, lending a helping hand almost everywhere, and meeting as many people as she could while still giving them her full attention.

Everyone but Caspian.

It felt like what he'd heard about Telmarine weddings after all, where there were so many things to do and guests to meet that the bride and groom didn't get any time just together, on the day they got married.

And it had been going on for a week now. That was far too long.

Caspian wanted his wife.

Walking down the next hallway, he kept wondering if it would be really absurd to make a law about how much of the Queen's time the King should be given each day. Maybe between the hours of 8 at night and 8 the next morning, it should be illegal to bother the royal family.

Even if it was a silly law, he could use the excuse that he was getting used to being a king again, after having been away for a year.

Just then he heard her shining, silvery laugh, and he couldn't help smiling. Striding faster, he ducked through an open door and into a tea room, only to slow, stop, and watch.

A family of Hedgehogs sat in front of a harp, each within reach of two strings, their tiny hands resting on the wire. The father and mother strummed the largest strings on the right, the children the smaller ones on the right, the smallest child's head poking between the miniscule strings at the top of the harp. His wife stood in front of them, clapping her hands as the Hedgehogs bowed.

"It was beautifully done," his wife awarded them in her beautiful voice. "I definitely think you should play a spot at the ball—near the end, perhaps, as the guests are leaving? If the children are able to stay up so late."

"We'll nap in the afternoon!" the second youngest squealed excitedly.

"A brilliant idea," Caspian said, moving forward till he could put an arm around his wife's waist. "I heartily approve. But for the moment, I must take your Queen away. Good day to you, cousins!"

"What needs to be done now?" she asked, voice soft as the door closed behind them.

Leading his wife felt easy, their steps evenly matched, her hand warm in his. "A lesson, my lady. One that only just occurred to me today."

"A lesson in what, my lord?"

Caspian swung the door to the ballroom open, pulled his wife inside, and closed the door behind them. Noticing the wonder on her face, he gave her a moment to look around, to see the silver chains strung between pillars, with silver stars hanging from them, though the candle in front of each star, held by the shape of a man, remained unlit. Trumpkin had asked all his Dwarf friends to make them a week ago, and they had just come. Potted evergreen trees, some twice as tall as a man, towered in the corners or stood between windows; their branches glittered with the golden lace woven between. The smooth wooden dais for the musicians had been crafted to look like the deck of a ship, a dragon figurehead on one end and a tail on the other. Small tables with perfect replicas of The Lone Islands, the island of the Dufflepuds, Galma, and her island stood around the room. A long table with a white tablecloth, not yet filled with food, stood opposite the musicians' ship.*

"What lesson shall take place here?" His wife spun slowly, taking in the room. "A lesson in beauty?"

"Or in love, for it seems to have had a hand in creating much of what is in here," Caspian responded before he thought; but he was allowed, with his wife. "But no, I thought to teach you how to dance."

His wife's light-filled laugh lit the room, and she spun, arms out, before bending in a half-bow as she turned, one arm out. Caspian reached for it, only to have her spin away from him. Though he was not dancing, he could not catch her; her swift steps danced in a pattern he could not predict as she spun just out of reach.

It was only when he heard her humming that he could recognise the pattern; then he caught her hand, spun her to him, and danced with her. Around and around the unlit room, her now in his arms, now spinning out, head back, eyes alive, and her smile full of the joy of movement—it felt like hours, and it felt like seconds, before her song came to a close and she stilled.

Caspian struggled to breathe; they had moved much quicker than anything he'd done by fighting.

"Did you forget, King Caspian, that I am the daughter of a Star? And every night, the Stars dance?"

"I did not forget," Caspian panted. Forcing himself to take deep, slow breaths, he straightened before offering her a bow, and his hand. "But I do not think most Narnians could dance that dance, Lady. Especially together. Would it please you to learn the dances we will dance here?"

"It would, for I love to dance," and she was smiling as she took his hand. "Will you teach me their names as well?"

"It would be my honour." Pulling her close, Caspian put one hand on her waist and lifted their other hands out to the side. "This is an old, old traditional Narnian dance, passed down from the very beginning. It is called a waltz, and was taught by King Frank and Queen Helen to their children."

Caspian only had to demonstrate for a few moments before she caught on; a few more turns of humming, and she could have led the waltz. He left her go regretfully.

"This is called the Faun's Thrumming, and it is danced in lines…"

The lesson did not take long, but it came to mind with vivid pleasure two nights later, when his Queen danced before all the Narnians with such beauty and skill they all went home talking about her.

Caspian only wished she needed a few more lessons; it would have been fun to continue.

Though perhaps she could give him some lessons instead. That thought made him smile, and he headed towards his wife to claim her for the next dance, and to ask.

Prompt 27: Someone's first dancing lesson.

*One nice thing about being a writer is that I don't have to be a millionaire in order to decorate ballrooms with insane themes. I can just describe it, and live there for a while.