A/N️: This chapter lives in the quiet spaces—between looks, half-spoken thoughts, and gut feelings that won't go away.

Drop your reactions—I'm ready.

All rights to the world and characters of Narnia belong to C.S. Lewis and his estate.

Chapter 18 - Unspoken Echoes

Eleanor's POV

Morning in Cair Paravel felt heavier than usual.

Eleanor fastened the belt around her tunic, fingers moving with practiced ease, but her mind was elsewhere. Something was off.

She cast a glance toward the window, watching the dull light stretch across the stone floor. The rain had stopped, but the air still hung thick with moisture, pressing against the castle walls. It was like the world itself was holding its breath.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. She hadn't seen James since the previous evening. Not unusual, but...

But it was James.

And James always made his presence known.

She turned away from the window, shaking the thought off. He was fine. He was probably off talking someone's ear off in the stables or sneaking extra food from the kitchen.

She had more pressing matters.

Lucy was waiting for her.

Eleanor took one last glance at her reflection in the mirror. She looked the same as she always did—dark blonde hair neatly pulled back, sleeves rolled up, eyes focused. And yet...

Why did she feel like something was missing?

She exhaled and headed for the door.

Edmund's POV

The morning air was thick with heat as Edmund stood at the edge of the training yard, arms crossed over his chest.

The soldiers moved with efficiency, steel clashing against steel, boots digging into the damp earth. It should have been a welcome distraction.

But his attention had strayed elsewhere.

Beyond the archway, just past the shadows cast by the stone walls, Eleanor stood watching.

Edmund had seen her before—always quiet, always observant, always just slightly apart. But today, something was different.

She looked... uneasy.

Her arms were folded loosely across her chest, but not in her usual composed manner. Her fingers tapped against her sleeve, restless. She was searching for something.

Or someone.

His gaze flickered to her face—sharp features, brows slightly drawn, striking green eyes scanning the training yard. Her posture was poised, but the tension in her shoulders gave her away.

Edmund narrowed his eyes. What is she looking for?

Then, as if realizing she had lingered too long, Eleanor turned abruptly.

And before he could stop himself, he called out.

"Eleanor."

Eleanor's POV

She barely made it two steps before a voice cut through the courtyard.

She turned.

Edmund stood at the edge of the training ground, arms still folded, his face unreadable.

For a brief moment, she saw him not as a king, but as a soldier.

Sweat clung to his brow, dark hair slightly disheveled from the morning drills. His tunic clung to his frame, dusted with the remnants of training. He looked sharp, unwavering, like he belonged in the middle of a battlefield. Slightly wild.

Eleanor quickly pushed the thought away.

He gestured toward the field. "Didn't take you for one to enjoy battle training."

She hesitated. "I don't."

"Then what are you doing here?"

Eleanor exhaled. "I was just passing through."

A half-truth.

Edmund didn't look convinced. His sharp brown eyes held hers for a beat longer than necessary, like he was seeing straight through her.

After a pause, his expression shifted. "You went to the Moon Harvest, didn't you?"

The question caught her off guard.

"Yes," she said slowly.

Edmund nodded, as if weighing something. "How was it?"

Eleanor hesitated.

The memory flashed through her mind—the glow of the plants, the murmured chants, the golden break in the clouds when the moon finally revealed itself.

"It was…" She searched for the right word. "Something I'll never forget."

For a split second, something flickered across Edmund's face.

Curiosity.

"What do you do in a harvest?" he asked, voice even. It wasn't mocking—it was genuine.

Eleanor was caught off guard again. She hadn't expected him to care.

"It's more than just gathering herbs," she said carefully. "It's about understanding the land—what's thriving, what's struggling. The moon strengthens certain plants, makes them more potent. When the land is healthy, the plants are stronger. When the land is sick…"

She trailed off.

Edmund studied her. "And what does that tell you?"

Eleanor looked away. "That something isn't right."

There was a weight to the words that neither of them acknowledged.

Before Edmund could respond, a loud call rang across the training yard.

They both turned instinctively.

A messenger had arrived on horseback, his cloak heavy with the morning's lingering dampness. He dismounted quickly, handing a sealed letter to one of the guards.

Eleanor's chest tightened.

She couldn't hear what was said, but she didn't have to.

The way the guard's expression darkened was enough.

Something was wrong.

Edmund must have seen the way she tensed because his voice was quiet when he spoke.

"You look like you're expecting bad news."

She swallowed. "I don't know. I just… I have a feeling."

A silence settled between them, the weight of unspoken thoughts lingering in the humid air.

He didn't press her further.

Instead, he simply watched her—like he was seeing her for the first time.

Then, without another word, Eleanor turned and walked away.

And Edmund stood there, watching until she was gone.