XX
GRACE
Out Of The Woods – Taylor Swift
As she lounged against one of the marble columns of the ballroom, Grace was beginning to question why she was here.
She had done as asked; dressed in a green gown which Queen Lucy had adorned with some borrowed jewels. At Lilis's insistence, Grace had let her play with her hair, twisting and piling it until it was swept into a robust updo which the Dryad had claimed would not move for the earth – something that Grace hoped was true when she thought of the vigorous movement it was about to bear.
Her sight was full of happy beings, both human and creature alike, bobbing and swerving amongst each other in perfect synchronicity. The Lyre's Retreat roared across the large room at full volume and met the ears of all as they watched the dance.
Everything was perfect, exactly as she imagined a medieval ball would be. Men walking with swords at her side and beautiful ladies perched on their arms. She was surprised to find there were more humans at court than Casys or Margrove had originally let on, however, she supposed in comparison to the number of beasts, their number was inconsequential.
It was a land of beasts indeed, the hall was packed with Narnians as many of them sat, wandered, talked and danced in the hall that night. All apart from one; Casys remained stoically at her side.
If he was displeased that he was stuck on 'Grace Duty' he didn't state as such and when Grace braved a look at his indifferent face, he would give her a stiff and encouraging nod. She supposed it was his way of stating that he was fine.
Her eyes wandered the flurry of skirts and fur, moving past the crowds of talking animals to the balcony across the room. She stared at it longingly but did not move herself an inch from the pole. Grace knew there were more eyes than just Casys on her tonight, and no matter how she might have entertained the daydreams of taking her new cloak and escaping into the night, she knew that was all they were.
Even if she managed to escape, Grace had no means of making it to the West and no knowledge of the Wardrobe. It was a fruitless quest and she would most likely die of starvation, if she wasn't eaten first.
A vision of red spun into the edge of her vision and Grace couldn't help but smile at the infectious laughter of Lucy. She was dancing with a tall, blonde Faun with a matching wide grin. He spun her in faster circles than the rest of the party, but she clearly enjoyed it, head spinning in stride to keep her from dizziness.
A pit settled in Grace's stomach. Even if she could leave, how could she without saying goodbye to Lucy? The younger Queen had wormed her way into her heart with her vivid soul and true spirit. Lucy had been the first to believe her and had stuck steadfast by her side despite her families misconceptions. Or one member's misconceptions, Grace amended sourly.
The dark-haired King was somewhere in the hall, probably watching her just as closely as Casys was. At least he had the grace not to do it brazenly this time, Grace didn't know how she would react to having his shadowed eyes glaring at her. She was already on edge, the nervousness for her performance venting through her picked fingers.
To her right, her Centaurian guard straightened stiffly. Grace eyed Casys warily, half expecting him to order her out of the room before the dance had even begun. Had King Edmund guessed her thoughts from across the room? She stood from the marble pillar, searching for that familiarly tousled head of dark hair.
To her surprise, it was dark hair she did not find, but golden. Gleaming in the torchlight with an equally glimmering crown upon it sat the head of High King Peter. He regarded her with a slight incline of his head and a swift kiss on the back of her hand.
Grace had grown used to this behaviour – as several other men had greeted her similarly that night – and took less time to recover than she had on the hillside. She swept into a short curtsy and greeted him.
"Are you enjoying the ball?" King Peter asked politely, joining her slight lean against the marble pillar.
"It's beautiful," Grace smiled as she surveyed the room; torches had been lit on every pillar and had filled it with a luscious golden glow. The light caught on everything in the room as every being reflected it tenfold onto the other. It made everything sparkle. "I've never been to a ball before. Are they always this grand?" Grace asked.
"Always," King Peter smiled sentimentally, his eyes catching on Queen Susan as he pointed her out, amongst the crowd of dancers, "Especially where my Royal Sister is involved."
Grace's smile grew as she watched the Queen spin under the Faun's arm gracefully, her hair trailing behind in an intricate plait. "I'd imagine with 13 years on the throne, it would entail a lot of parties," Grace wondered, "How do you never bore of all this?"
King Peter shrugged easily, "We've been attending and organizing such functions for many years, but our sister always seems to find a way to make it interesting."
"Oh?" Grace's interest peaked, "And what makes this ball interesting?"
"Well," The High King began, leaning towards Grace like he would tell her some great secret, "I hear that the Long Trot might be making an appearance tonight."
Grace's mind returned to the unsettled feeling in her stomach, "Yes, I've heard that too."
"I also hear," He added, whispered voice barely carrying above the music, "That you are leading the dance."
Grace looked up at the High King, his eyes were filled with mirth. She couldn't mirror it and was sure that her nervousness was written all over her face.
King Peter patted her arm comfortingly, "Never fear, I'm sure you've had enough practice and with the right motivation you will see it through with nary a scrape."
Grace didn't say anything, the sick bubbling feeling in her stomach was growing unbearable.
The High King continued talking – blissfully unaware of the turmoil of his companion and the fact that his words grazed through one ear and out the other. Grace rested against the pillar and let it take her weight in full, the cool marble refreshing against her flushed skin.
King Peters face entered her darkened vision, "Are you well, Grace?" He asked worriedly, arms poised to catch her should she fall. Grace recoiled from them, the last thing she needed was to be seen carried out of the hall.
"I'm fine," Grace waved him off haphazardly.
His eyebrows raised, "You look green."
Grace shook her head fervently but it did little to deter him, "I can get Lucy, she'll probably know-"
"No, please," Grace stopped him, "There's nothing Lucy can do to help me, I'm just a little nervous."
King Peter eyed her warily, "You take ill when you're nervous?"
Somehow, through her nauseous state, Grace had the energy to look affronted, "It's quite a common affliction."
The High King smiled half-heartedly, "If you say so."
He offered her his arm which Grace took gently as he led her further from the party. When they reached a wall he delicately let her down in one of the armchairs.
"Thank you," Grace sighed, grateful for the distance from the warm torches and dancing bodies.
The look on the High King's face almost made her laugh; he was watching Grace warily as if he expected her to throw up at any moment.
"I'm feeling better," Grace assured him. It was half true, her illness had lessened now that she was not staring at the point of her nervousness – the dance floor.
"I'm more concerned about what will happen when the Long Trot is called. Will you make it onto the floor without spilling onto it?" King Peter asked warily.
Grace's stomach lurched at the thought, and she took a deep breath against the feeling as her clammy hand gripped the armrest, "I hope so."
The High King looked at her thoughtfully, "What worries you so much? Is it not just a dance?"
"I think it's the thought of falling flat on my face in front of your entire court."
King Peter eyed her; his face set in innocent optimism, "Then do not fall?"
Grace laughed breathlessly, "I don't think it's that simple."
"It can be," He insisted, "Anything can be done with the correct training and motivation. You just need to want it enough."
Grace raised an eyebrow at his optimism, if she squinted in the torchlight she knew she would have seen Lucy in his place, smiling as she pushed her towards the dance floor. The look comforted her.
"You have been taught the dance, yes?" The face snapped back to the form of the High Kings, the subtle glint he had presented but a week ago was back and Grace wondered if she was being tested again.
"Of course," She answered honestly.
"From what I hear, you're quite good."
The other brow joined its sisters height on her skull, "Have conversations with Margrove regularly do you?" Grace quipped.
King Peter shook his head and waved off her comment, "The dryads in the dancing troupe are of my Royal Sisters private household; but that is beside the point."
Grace stared at him impatiently as he drew out the moment.
"Perhaps you need the right motivation."
Grace scoffed and wiped her sweaty hands on the sides of her dress, clearly the High King had not been paying attention to the extent of her nervousness just moments ago. "How do you plan on motivating me" She asked sceptically.
The High King's eyes gleamed as he explained, "By reminding you exactly what is at stake here."
When his words fell flat on Grace's confused ears he did not become disheartened, instead he prompted, "What is the one thing you want the most, Grace?"
"To not throw up on the dance floor," Grace deadpanned.
It was fleeting, the look of repulsion on his face before it was schooled again. He eyed her obviously, "Your freedom."
Grace raised her eyebrows, "Am I going to dance my way there?"
"No," The High King smiled wryly, "But it is a step towards convincing my brother and I that you are not a threat. Is that not what you and Lucy have been working towards?"
Grace looked up at the King in alarm, the knowing look he was giving her chilled her to the bone. He knew? Had he known this whole time? She supposed he expected his sister might make this kind of move – Lucy didn't seem the kind to leave her friends without help – but surely their plan had not been that obvious.
"I know what Lucy is planning," King Peter confirmed, "and you may rest assured; I am on your side-"
"If you are on my side then why can't you grant me my freedom?" Grace leaned across the arm of the chair toward the King, eyes blazing with desperation.
The High King silenced her with a raised finger, "However, you must understand, I value my brother's council greatly. I will not go against him."
Grace deflated, disappointed but unsurprised that her problems would not be solved that easily. The cloak she had hidden on the front terrace was looking more tempting by the minute. Or at least it would, if the High King was not looking at her so wisely.
"I am also aware of your other plans," He edged, leaning forward so that his whisper carried to her ears, "You must know that such an action would be foolish, considering your previous failure."
Grace froze, mind unhinged and unthinking in cold realisation. High King Peter stared at her seriously – it made her feel like a child chastised by her parent. The look was practiced and easily worn on his face and Grace wondered whether Lucy found herself in scrapes often.
"I won't stop you," He reasoned, leaning away with his arms raised in surrender, "But I will warn you. This action may cause more harm than good."
Grace didn't move but she felt her shocked expression loosen. He was giving her the choice to make her own decision and she was grateful for it.
"What is your advice then?" She asked tentatively, unwilling to admit to her plans to the man who had the power to behead her for them.
The warm and easy smile graced his face once again, "You will enter that dance floor with your head held high and give the performance of a lifetime."
Grace raised her eyebrows, "I don't know if I can."
King Peter shook his head adamantly, "But you must try your hardest. This is a true test of character, Grace. If you can survive the Long Trot, then you may survive the journey ahead of you."
Grace stared at the King doubtfully, but he paid her no mind. He turned to a table of food behind him and plucked a pitcher of wine and two goblets from the table. He poured two, offering her one goblet as he held his own. She took it tentatively.
The High King raised the goblet, eyeing her green face meaningfully, "To your health."
Grace took a sip, only thinking after the liquid passed her lips that she should have asked what it was. She supposed it did not matter now; it would probably be an offence for her to spit it out. She was pleasantly surprised to find that it was wine, the robust and sweet flavour coating her tongue like sunshine on a warm summers day.
Her eyes widened in wonder as she asked the High King, "What is this?"
"It's wine from the South," He grinned, "Grown and bottled under the radiant southern sun."
"It's delicious," Grace exclaimed.
"They say, those who drink the wine of the south absorb the nature of those who have grown there," King Peter whispered conspiratorially, "They are robust, hard-working people who see beauty in the smallest things. Much like my Sister, who leads them with her gentle heart."
Grace involuntarily smiled at the show of familial love.
"This is from one of her personal wineries," He held the goblet aloft proudly, "Only brought out on special occasions."
Grace opened her mouth but the High King silenced her again, face pointed in alert towards the crowd forming at the edge of the ballroom, "Hush, I believe the moment is upon you."
"A hall! A hall!" A familiar voice boomed from the centre of the ballroom. As the dancers began to disperse and Grace was ushered on the High King's arm to the edge of the ballroom, her eyes were met with the sight of Margrove. He was dressed well for the ball, his dark hair glimmering with beads of blue which complimented the sash at his waist.
He looked around, hands moving grandly as he addressed his audience, "Your Majesties, Ladies, gentlemen and noble beasts of our fair court, it is the duty of the Royal Orchestra to hold the music of Narnia dearly to our hearts. But on this, the day of our Gentle Queen's birthday, we ask you to embrace the old whilst stepping into the new."
Somewhere in the hall, the Orchestra began. Grace jolted at hearing the finished product of the song, she'd heard it multiple times in rehearsal of course but never like this. It was ethereal as the piano notes echoed. They twisted in the air and danced around you with maddening lightness that could not be touched, but still you felt it waft over your skin.
Amongst the beginnings of the music and the speech of her friend, Grace realised that she no longer felt sick and the thought of dancing. Rather, she wanted to.
Margrove was still speaking at the centre of the circle, his hands rubbing together in an excited manner, "We invite you to dance under the light of the full moon, to a tune that you have not heard but will remember well. A dance that as a youngling you will have seen from the eaves of tall, winding trees as you watched your elders weave amongst each other in increasing speed."
He paused for affect, his eyes alight at the captive audience, "My fair people, we invite you to join us… in the Long Trot."
It had the desired effect, for there was a collective gasp and applause from the circled crowd. Members of the dance troupe began to congregate in the centre around the Faun, chattering excitedly as they took to their starting positions. Between them some members of the court had bravely stepped forward, however Grace noticed no human among them.
A rough hand entered her own and Grace looked up at her friend. She had expected Lilis would seek her out before the dance began.
The Dryad smiled at her nervously, "I've forgotten which comes first, is it screaming colour or black and white?"
"It's black and white," Grace answered, attempting to convey comfort in her smile.
From her left, the High King excused himself, muttering a short 'I shall leave you to it' and kissing her hand before disappearing into the crowd.
Lilis took the lead once they were free, depositing Grace in position with Margrove amongst the circle. Grace thanked her with a smile and squeeze of the hand before watching the Dryad flit off towards the Orchestra.
"Was it a worthy speech?" Margrove asked, his grin wide and face flushed – exhilarated by the attention.
Grace's cheeks stretched to fit the wide grin she bore, "I couldn't have done a better job myself."
The Faun eyed her cheekily, "Have a little faith in yourself."
Grace shook her head fondly as she joined the circle in a shared bow towards the centre and then turned and bowed to her friend.
"I thought you were supposed to be minding the Orchestra," Grace asked, perplexed at his position beside her. She knew she wouldn't send him away, however. A dance partner that one knew was better than one they did not. Even if tonight was a spectacular failure, if Grace was dancing with Margrove, it wouldn't matter.
"And miss the fun? Absolutely not," Margrove linked their arms and led them in a slow spin, "My uncle would be ashamed if he heard I didn't join the long trot. It is a rite of passage in the West."
Grace gave him a worried look, perhaps she should not have taken place as his partner if it was so important, "What happens if you can't successfully complete the Long Trot?"
"Exile, of course," Margrove said, eyes mirthful as he took her other arm and spun them in the opposite direction.
Grace tried to smile in return, silently praying that he was kidding. Surely an Uncle would not do such a thing, especially an Uncle that Margrove was so close with.
She recalled their conversation about him that first day in the Music Room, "Did you ever hear back from your Uncle?"
A flash of something crossed the Faun's eyes and he looked away, "No, I did not."
There was no time to say anything else, for Grace was thrown into a river of weaving and turning amongst the line of the circle. There are two roles in the long trot, aptly named the feminine and the masculine, however, the title does not dictate the person who fills it. When Lilis had placed her on Margrove's left instead of his right, she did not object. She moved between the line of marching Narnians as quickly as the dryads in her sight, keeping mind to not step on her skirts in the process – she was very grateful that Queen Susan and Lucy had not filled her skirt with tulle like theirs had been. It hung limply from her hips, swaying with movement without much need of her holding it out of the way.
When she had made her way around the circle to rejoin their friend, Margrove linked arms with her again and they spun. It seemed that was their agreed movement, as one does with their partner in the Long Trot. She was grateful it was something simple as she looked on to some of the more elaborate moves others were taking.
"I'm sorry," Margrove said lowly as they changed directions.
"What for?" Grace asked.
"My Uncle has not written; I know you were keen for his reply."
Grace shook her head, "You can't be blamed, and it was a long shot anyways. I don't blame you."
They released in a hurried sprint again, the music picking up pace as it should with each round. Grace listened to the lilting voice of Lilis as she sang amongst the roar of musical instruments behind her. The echo of the hall made it difficult for her to pinpoint the exact location of it, it sounded like it was everywhere all at once.
A sharp sound split the air of music, but the dance did not stop. Grace weaved and moved, only slightly perturbed by the looks of slight worry being thrown around the circle. They did not last long and in their fleetingness were forgotten by the time she had made it halfway through the circle.
In her place of weaving and turning she could feel the music urging her forward, pushing her into that form of existence she sought after. Her skin tingled and her mind buzzed in that pleasant way and if she closed her eyes, Grace could believe she was somewhere else.
When Grace finally completed the circle she stopped, face to face with an unexpected set of dark eyes. She blanched at the sight of King Edmund, standing tall and comfortable amongst the line of Narnians around them. Her eyes traced the hall until they landed on the form of Margrove, doubled over in a chair as Lucy tended to his leg.
Grace couldn't move, her lungs wouldn't breathe as they flickered from the Faun to the King; the connection slowly forming in her mind along with the fear. King Edmund had also frozen but not in fear, instead he looked as though he was trying not to startle a wild animal he'd cornered in the woods.
They both stared in an equal stand off as everything slowed around them. Grace's insides twisted uncomfortably and she considered walking away right then and there. Her partner was sitting off to the side with a broken leg and she could not remain in the dance without ruining the pattern….
Unless the King had taken Margrove's place.
Her eyes flickered to the partners behind him who were performing an elaborate movement. She didn't know whether to feel relieved that she would not ruin the remainder of the dance or horrified that King Edmund would be her partner for the remainder.
The King was still looking at her, face blank and unfeeling against the movement behind his eyes. She couldn't tell what the wave of emotion was as they widened and fixed on a position behind her, they were running out of time – the line would be moving soon.
It was almost comical, the look of panic on his face. Grace would have laughed if she did not think he would walk away and abandon her in the line. Then, as everything around them began to return to normal speed, King Edmund did something unexpected.
He took her by the waist and spun her in the air.