XV

EDMUND

Paperwork sprawled over the walnut desk in the organised chaos of Edmund's mind. He'd been working on the finer details of the new trade agreement with Archenland for hours – Focusing solely on the introductions a treaty with Calormen would create.

He had supposed that safe passage would need to be allowed for trade between the two nations and if King Lune was amenable, perhaps a further treaty could be founded between Calormen and Archenland to facilitate this.

Edmund began to feel cross eyed from the listless amount of words he had viewed in the morning. He slumped back into his padded chair with a huff. The trade agreement with Archenland was already 100 pages long and with the changes he made alone would add another 20. The thought made his dry eyes water, he closed them. When was the last time he blinked?

It wasn't as if he didn't enjoy the work. On the contrary, Edmund could only find peace and solitude in the pages of sense that running a country provided. There was no emotion to be found in a trade agreement, only simple facts. The needs of one country in turn for the needs of another. It was refreshing against the constant tug and pull of the world outside of his office in his wild country which was so often run by instinct and emotion.

The soft sound of paw against wood stirred him. He looked up at the intrusion, noting the thick body of shadow in the crack under the door.

"Enter," Edmund commanded.

The handle clicked downwards and a sleek black panther pushed through the opening. It's wings trailing behind it smoothly on the marble floor. Shese, Edmunds most trusted member of his household trailed across the room in slow precise movements and deposited upon the desk a sheet of parchment which she had held gingerly between her lips.

"The Ambassador's list, sire," She explained, perching herself languidly upon a chaise.

"Thank you," Edmund said as he picked up the thin parchment and let his eyes shift over the scribbled words. He gave a frustrated sigh; they were in written in the Calormene language, which he was not well-versed in. He would ask Susan, if she wouldn't admonish him for stealing the parchment in the first place. A talking to from his elder sister was the last thing he needed.

"Shese, is there anyone in Aslan's Army who speaks Calormene?" He asked whilst attempting to copy the markings on a scrap piece of parchment.

Shese stretched on the chaise, her claws extending against the velvet, "None that I know of Sire."

Edmund scowled; he could make out a few words, but none were of any value. He'd have to find a way to have Susan translate without tipping her off to its contents.

Shese continued to lie still, eyes closed peacefully against the noisy ruffle of parchment until a muffled knock stirred her.

Edmund glanced up at the door warily. He had diarised no appointments this morning, nor was he expecting any of his siblings this early; Peter would be tied up in his own work, Lucy would be busy with her medical research and Susan would still be in her rooms preparing herself for the day.

In a hurried motion, he copied the remaining scribbles on the scrap parchment, held the sheet aloft over the hardwood desk and whispered, "Take this and hide behind the door. Once it is open, you can slink out."

The Winged Panther pounced from the seat with a low grunt, lopping across the floor to gingerly take the parchment in her mouth.

Edmund watched Shese's black fur melt away into a shadowy corner. He whispered an order into the black emptiness, "Ensure you put it back in the exact place you found it, Shese."

The Winged Panther rasped a muffled laugh in response.

Another knock rebounded against the empty air. Edmund scowled at the door, there was little he liked less than impatience. In a flash of spite, he almost didn't respond. Staring resolutely at the door in defiance but he had been raised better than that.

With a rustle of parchment he stuffed the copied piece out of sight and called, "Enter."

The handle clicked and the curly head of a familiar faun poked its way through the crevice, "I'm sorry to bother you, Sire. I have some correspondence from my uncle I thought you may be interested in."

Edmund squinted at the shadow of the door. It was too dark to make out the Faun's face.

The Faun teetered nervously from his position in the crevice, "If this isn't a good time, I'm sure it can wait until later?"

"Now is fine," Edmund said, still squinting at the shadows. He gestured for the Faun to enter, careful not to draw his eyes to Shese as she slipped through the crevice before the door clicked to a close.

The familiar form of Margrove became clearer as he crossed the room, his cloven hoofs clicking against the marble floor in a soft rhythm. He stopped before the desk, coal black eyes blinking warily at the expression on his King's face.

Edmund became vaguely aware that he still wore the flustered annoyance he'd felt moments ago and attempted to school his features. His eyes travelled to the Faun's hands which held a neatly folded letter sealed in wax.

A wax seal with the image of the Lamp Post.

Edmund looked at Margrove, eyes alight with curiosity, "Is that for me?" He asked.

"Yes," Margrove admitted, holding the folded square aloft, "I wrote to my Uncle a week ago. I received a reply today and sealed inside of it, was this," He tilted the parchment to the unsealed side to reveal a neatly penned, 'King Edmund'.

Edmund plucked the letter from the Faun's fingertips. It was thick, even if it wasn't folded, and seemed to be comprised of four pages. If Edmund knew Mr Tumnus at all, each page would be double sided.

"I wasn't aware that Mr Tumnus had a nephew," Edmund mused while leaning back in his desk chair.

Margrove grimaced, "Her Majesty, Queen Susan, was aware when I made my application… but agreed when I asked to keep that information a secret. I wanted to step into my work outside of my uncles shadow."

"And that you did," Edmund said mildly. He could remember Margrove's entrance into the household of Cair Paravel quite clearly. The vibrant and outspoken Faun had made quite the impression.

A beat passed where no one said anything and Edmund flipped the folded square over in his hand. Margrove did not leave, nor did he show any signs of wishing to. He just simply stared, eyes flickering between the letter and Edmund's eyes. He wanted something.

Edmund levelled a questioning look at the Faun, "It seems curious that your Uncle would not just send this to me directly."

Margrove shuffled uncomfortably under the King's gaze, "When I wrote to my Uncle, I asked him about some of the fables in the West. His response gave none of the answers I was looking for."

Edmund's thick eyebrows furrowed, "Do you not hail from the West? I'm surprised you do not know the stories yourself."

"I know the whispers," Margrove admitted, "But none of the fine detail."

He didn't continue, but Edmund had the feeling there was more he could say. That there was something the Faun wasn't telling him, "Why do you need the fables from the West?"

"Does one need a reason to ask questions about their home?" Margrove asked.

Edmund did not grace the question with a response, his eyes turning colder on his shadowed face.

Margrove caught the hint and relented, "The Daughter of Eve was asking about the city of War Drobe."

Edmunds brows furrowed further; he could easily guess to which Daughter of Eve the Faun referred to. "Grace?" He asked stonily.

Margrove's eyes widened a fraction. He seemed to weigh the pros and cons of lying to a King in his mind before finally replying, "Yes."

Edmund felt an unpleasant feeling bubble under his skin. It was not uncommon when Grace was mentioned and really, how could it be helped when she insisted on doing something like this.

Edmund had told her not to go looking for the Wardrobe when they had first met; he thought it had been made very clear that she was to stay put until further notice. Not only had she disobeyed yet another clear rule, but she had sent someone else to do her dirty work. The lack of respect was astounding.

When Edmund did not speak, Margrove attempted to calm the crackling tension, "I believe she doesn't mean any harm. She just wants to go home."

"Yes," Edmund gritted, "That's all anyone ever tells me."

Margrove linked his fingers tentatively and leaned forward as if he was telling the King a great secret, "Do you think, perhaps, that may be because it is true."

The Faun immediately recoiled from Edmunds glare.

"I am aware she wants to leave," Edmund said, "And Grace is aware of the terms of her stay. It was not right of her to ask such a thing of you."

His eyes returned to the letter in his hands and in one short crack he broke the seal of the Lantern in two.

"I offered," Margrove stated firmly, defiant in the defence of his friend. Edmund ignored him.

The flowing script of Mr Tumnus was recognisable from the first word to the last. Edmund had been correct in his assumptions – each page was double sided and more descriptive than he could have thought.

"Your Uncle is very thorough," He noted, eyes skimming the inked words.

"Thank you, Sire," Margrove said as he edged closer to the desk in anticipation, "Does the letter state why he concealed a letter to you in his reply?"

"It does not need to," Edmund explained, "For I wrote to your uncle a few weeks ago. He must have thought this safer to ensure a reply to both."

Margrove made a noise of understanding.

The letter was folded and stuffed in a desk drawer haphazardly. Once it was stored and out of his sight, Edmund levelled a hard look at the Faun, the letter opener in his hand pointed across the desk in warning.

"Speak of this to no one," Edmund ordered, "Even Grace."

Margrove hesitated, coal eyes transfixed on the small but sharp blade, "But your majesty, wouldn't it be better if Grace knew you were acting in her best interests? She thinks her cause has been abandoned."

Edmund leaned forward as he set a stern gaze on the Faun, "It would be better if Grace was not given false hope. I am doing my best to find a solution but I cannot guarantee success."

Margrove nodded in understanding, his eyes slightly lowered in shame.

"You can tell her one thing, however," Edmund said thoughtfully, absentmindedly fiddling with the letter opener in his hand.

The Faun looked up with interested eyes.

"You can tell her that every day that she disobeys my orders is a days delay on the solution."