Cair Paravel.
2345.
42nd Year of the Reign of King Caspian X.
Emerylda.
Emerylda watched the beautiful queen, whose hair shimmered the white-gold of starlight. It seemed to catch and reflect every sliver of light, shifting in hues like the dawn touching a frosted field. Apt, she thought, for what other colour hair would a star have?
She stood beneath the shadow of the ancient oak tree, its gnarled bark rough against her fingertips as she leaned into its sturdy trunk. Hidden, unseen, yet always watching. The damp earth beneath her boots held the faint, musky scent of rain-soaked moss, mingling with the soft sweetness of wildflowers that blanketed the meadow.
The queen's voice rose and fell like the gentle ripple of a brook, her song as light and lilting as the summer breeze that stirred the air. Emerylda caught the faint rustle of petals shifting, the occasional hum of a passing bee drawn to the vibrant blooms surrounding the queen.
She wore no crown, no circlet to denote her rank, but there was no mistaking the Queen of Narnia. The loose folds of her pale gown shimmered faintly, like moonlight trapped in silk, trailing through the grasses that swayed in deference to her presence.
The queen's eyes, when they glanced skyward, were the colour of the night's deepest hour, glittering with an otherworldly light. It was no wonder, Emerylda thought, that songs of her beauty echoed from Cair Paravel to the courts of Archenland. The tales of her enchantment were legend—that a single glance, the fluttering of those impossibly dark lashes, had ensnared King Caspian the Tenth's heart.
Emerylda's breath caught as the queen tilted her head slightly, her song weaving itself into the golden glow of the afternoon. For a moment, it felt as though the world itself had stilled, listening, captivated by this ethereal figure in a sea of wildflowers.
Emerylda could hear the rest of the party, they were a merry boisterous bunch, their music floating through the forest. But they respected their queen's wishes for a small respite – they did not hover over her small sanctuary.
The star's son, Prince Rilian, had been knighted.
On the cusp of manhood, the prince had seen no more than eight and ten years though his swordsmanship was sung of nearly as much as his mother's beauty. And just like all those gathered, Emerylda planned on giving the young prince a gift to celebrate his knighthood.
Emerylda watched the queen in her solitude, her pristine white gown pooled around her like the petals of the softest rose. The golden jewellery she wore glinted in the soft light that flittered through the canopy above, catching and scattering the dappled light.
She was a fool to leave the protection of the knights and courtiers.
And in that instant Emerylda made her decision.
Her skin shifted, her shimmering jade gown falling to the ground as silken scales ran across it. Stunning emerald scales that almost sparkled like the woman she watched. She revelled in the feeling of the ground beneath her soft scales, it felt so much better than earth on flimsy rough skin. She had perfected only the one shape.
But it was enough.
The beautiful queen did not see her coming.
She had sensed nothing wrong.
For what Narnian would feel fear at the approach of an animal?
It was easy, oh so easy for Emerylda to sink her fangs into the soft flesh of the queen's arm, looking up into those deep blue eyes. Eyes which opened wide, her mouth falling open in a silent cry of pain as the venom flowed into her.
"Mother!"
The voice startled Emerylda, who drew back, hissing.
The young prince had burst through the clearing, violet-blue eyes a perfect twin to the fading queen; but they were blown wide.
Terrified.
A man, but little more than a babe despite the sign of the Lion on his breastplate.
Emerylda slithered back into the bush. He would see nothing more than her tail. And though her true form had far better hearing, she relished the taste of his fear on the tip of her forked tongue. She could feel his heartbeat, rapidly pounding within his chest.
"Mother," it was a strangled sob that tore from deep within the prince. "Help! Someone, help!"
But the bumbling courtiers could not come in time. Nothing would save their dear queen as her lips slowly turned blue.
Nothing could stop Emerylda's venom.
Her sister would have laughed at his unmanly display as he cradled his mother in his arms.
Liliandil's mouth was desperately trying to form words. But nothing would not. It could not. Not as the venom flowed through her body, shutting down her organs one by one. Soon her heart would give.
And the kingdom would grieve.
Emerylda grinned.
Narnia would fall.