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. Apt, she thought, for what other colour hair would a star have?
She watched from the shadow of the oak tree, hidden. Unseen but watching. Always watching.
The queen sung a pretty tune, light and lilting as she sat amongst the flowers.
She wore no crown, no circlet to denote her rank, but there was no mistaking the Queen of Narnia. For songs of her beauty were sung from Cair Paravel to the courts of Archenland, tales of her beauty and how she had enchanted King Caspian the tenth with naught but a single glance, a fluttering of those impossibly dark lashes over eyes the colour of the night sky.
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.