The Dancing Lawn. The centre of the lawn, amongst the dancing and revelries.
1011.
Christmastime.
Lucy.
Lucy hadn't meant to end up in the midst of the dancers, but the pull of the music and the ebb and flow of the crowd had a way of sweeping people away. She'd been weaving through the celebration, searching for a quieter corner to catch her breath, when a hand extended toward her, palm up, fingers open in an unspoken invitation.
It was him – Esfandiyar.
The noble who had earlier made her bristle with his loud demeanour and sharp tongue. His dark eyes glinted with something she couldn't quite place, an intensity that seemed at odds with the jovial rhythm of the music.
Before she could refuse, he stepped forward, taking her hand with a flourish and sweeping her into the throng of dancers. His touch was surprisingly light, his movements fluid and assured as he guided her through the steps.
"I didn't take you for someone who avoided dancing," he remarked, his voice smooth and rich, laced with just enough teasing to draw her eyes to his face.
"I didn't take you for someone who danced at all," she shot back, unable to help herself.
Esfandiyar laughed – a deep, resonant sound that carried easily over the music. "You wound me," he said, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I'll have you know I'm quite the accomplished dancer. My people pride themselves on grace, after all."
Lucy resisted the urge to roll her eyes, though she couldn't quite hide the upward twitch of her lips. "And humility, clearly."
His grin widened, but his steps never faltered, even as the tempo of the music increased. He spun her deftly, his hand firm at her waist as he brought her back to him. She hated how effortlessly he seemed to manage the dance, as though it was his natural element and she was just an accessory to his performance.
Yet, as much as she disliked admitting it, he was a good dancer—better than most of the partners she'd endured tonight. His movements were smooth, precise, and even a bit playful. She could feel the eyes of others on them, their gazes drawn by Esfandiyar's confident presence and the striking contrast of their appearances. His caramel-brown skin and amber silks seemed to glow in the firelight, a bold contrast to her own fair complexion and the softer hues of her gown.
"You're better at this than I expected," he admitted, his tone lighter now, as though he were genuinely surprised.
Lucy arched an eyebrow. "Better than you expected? And here I thought you'd mastered the art of flattery."
Esfandiyar's smile sharpened. "Perhaps I underestimated you. I won't make that mistake again."
The almost praise in his voice caught her off guard, and for a brief moment, she faltered. He steadied her instantly, his hand tightening just enough to keep her balanced.
"Careful, my lady," he said, his voice dropping to a murmur. "It wouldn't do to lose your footing."
Lucy's heart gave an unexpected flutter at his proximity, but she shoved the feeling aside, focusing instead on the music and the steps of the dance. She wouldn't let him unsettle her – not when she had been perfectly fine before he pulled her into this whirlwind.
As the song neared its end, Esfandiyar leaned in slightly, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "For what it's worth, I don't believe the 'peaceful sibling' title suits you. There's far more fire in you than you let on."
…
The Dancing Lawn. The Southern Well.
Faelar.
Faelar's steps were swift but steady, his boots crunching lightly against the frost-covered ground as he approached the frozen well where Arianna sat. Her golden-brown skin seemed to glow in the moonlight, and her winter-green eyes sparkled with knowing amusement as she tilted her head toward him, a smirk playing at her lips.
She had become his friend somewhere along their path.
But she would always be his queen.
"You may need to steal your lady away," she said, her tone light but laced with mischief. "Before she threatens Narnia's peace."
Faelar's brow furrowed as he followed her gaze.
There, in the midst of the dancers, Lucy stood with one of the Calormene lords. Though the man was well-dressed in rich amber silks, he carried himself with a peculiar kind of confidence that set Faelar on edge. His deep, resonant laugh carried across the lawn, and Lucy – his Lucy – was looking up at him, anger blazing in her pretty blue eyes.
The sight stirred something hot and sharp in Faelar's chest.
The Calormene lord stood too close, his presence too commanding, his smile too familiar. Lucy, dwarfed by the man's taller frame, looked radiant as always, her auburn hair catching the light like burnished copper. But Faelar couldn't shake the feeling that this man's attention was too pointed, too intense.
"He doesn't look like any Calormene I've ever met," Faelar muttered, his voice low and edged with tension.
Arianna chuckled softly, taking a sip from the goblet in her hand. "That is Prince Rabadash's closest confidant," she said, as if the name explained everything. "He's as much a diplomat as he is a warrior. Dangerous combination, wouldn't you agree?"
Faelar didn't respond.
He didn't have to.
The sharp set of his jaw and the way his storm-cloud eyes darkened spoke volumes. Without another word, he strode forward, his purpose clear and unshakable.
The frost glistened as he cut a path through the crowd, his silver-blonde hair catching the firelight and marking him out among the celebrants. He kept his gaze locked on Lucy, who was still engaged in conversation with Esfandiyar. The Calormene lord leaned in slightly, his expression animated, and though Lucy's smile remained polite, Faelar didn't miss the way her posture stiffened ever so slightly.
By the time he reached them, his presence was impossible to ignore. Esfandiyar glanced up first, his lion-like eyes meeting Faelar's with a spark of curiosity – and perhaps a touch of challenge.
"Ah," Esfandiyar said, a faint smirk curling his lips. "You must be the Northman I've heard so much about."
Lucy turned at the sound of his voice, her expression softening instantly when she saw him. "Faelar," she said, her voice laced with relief.
The tension in Faelar's chest eased at the sound of her voice, but his focus remained on Esfandiyar. "I've come to collect my lady," he said, his tone calm but firm, leaving no room for argument.
Esfandiyar raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening as he glanced between the two of them. "Of course," he said smoothly, stepping back with a gracious bow. "Far be it from me to stand in the way of such devotion."
Lucy looked as though she might protest, but Faelar offered her his hand before she could speak. She hesitated for only a moment before placing her hand in his, the warmth of her touch grounding him as they stepped away from the throng.
As they walked, the laughter and music of the celebration faded into the background, replaced by the quiet crunch of frost beneath their feet. Faelar didn't speak at first, his thoughts swirling, but he held her hand tightly, as if anchoring himself to her.
Finally, he stopped and turned to face her, his stormy eyes searching hers. "Are you all right?" he asked, his voice softer now, but still laced with concern.
Lucy tilted her head, a small smile playing at her lips. "Of course I am," she said. "Why wouldn't I be?"
Faelar's jaw tightened, and he glanced back toward the celebration. "That man... Esfandiyar. He—" He paused, struggling to find the right words. "He seemed too comfortable."
Lucy laughed softly, the sound warm and reassuring. "We traded words, not blows," she said, though there was a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "And besides, I can handle myself."
Faelar didn't look convinced, but he nodded slowly, his grip on her hand relaxing slightly. "I know you can," he said, his voice steady. "But that doesn't mean I won't worry."
Her smile softened, and she stepped closer, her free hand reaching up to brush a stray lock of his silver-blonde hair from his face. "You don't need to worry about me," she said gently. "I missed you, Faelar."
The tension in his expression melted away at her words, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. "And I you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
For a moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of them in the frosted stillness of the winter night.