#crownedjust

𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐒   𝐅𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖   𝐀𝐒   𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒   𝐓𝐔𝐆   𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎   𝐀   𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏        pout   .        she   was   in   a   frightfully   bad   mood     & .     edmund   only   made   it      WORSE   .       he   shouldn’t   be   correcting   her   on   how   to   properly   talk   !               (        BUT   HE   DOES  HAVE   THE   RIGHT    ,     FOOLISH   QUEEN   .        )                a       deep   breath       before   she   pushes   herself   away   from   the   table   with   a      HUFF   .     blue   eyes   narrow   as   she       glared   daggers       at   her   brother    ,     chest   raising      & .     falling   in   short   bursts   .       was   it   obvious   that   she   was   angry   ?

                    ❝          oh    ,     HONESTLY      edmund   !       must   you   always   be   insufferable   ?       have   you   been       waiting   to   be   like   this   ?       & .      who   are   you   to   say   what   is       proper   english   or   not    ,     you’re   not   an       english   professor    ,     YOU’RE   A   KING   ,          ❞                              she   hissed    ,     eyes   rolling   .       susan   took   a   deep   breath   before   giving   a   brief   look   at   her   other   siblings   before   turning   around      & .     storming   out   of   the   great   hall   .

               FOR THE FIRST time in the history of Narnia, Daphne was away from its roots and its forests. Instead, she was situated in a body that was far more human than to which she was accustomed –– though not quite all the way –– with flowers in her hand instead of threaded through her hair. Before she had left, Aslan had breathed onto her, changing the Narnian dress she always wore when in her human form into something that felt heavy, sturdy, and unlike anything she had worn before. 

She’d asked Aslan how she was supposed to find him in a body which was less connected to the ground than she had ever felt, but he had told her that she would find him. There had been something like amusement in his voice when he had rumbled that you, of anything, dearly rooted one, will find the just king. 

And, after only moments, she had seen him. He was dressed in a similarly-foreign manner as she, but still… he was beautiful. Daphne felt a shiver of something that she had not before –– a twinge of self-consciousness –– and fought it back, flashing a smile. 

“Edmund,” she called, watching as he –– and the young men he was with –– turned her way. 

She only had eyes for him; they could have been in the forest alone, or, like they were now, on two sides of a busy street ( the word came to her though she knew she did not know it; she supposed it was Aslan’s doing ). 

               SHE COULDN’T DO so every night, but she’d stayed in a bed. Objectively, she could tell that it was comfortable, but she craved night air, and seeing the stars. He’d promised her that he would find a place which fit them both, and Daphne believed –– with all of her heart –– that Edmund would do so. He was remarkably, delightfully stubborn. He’d shown her plans he’d made for a sort of almost-inside, almost-outside room, lacking a ceiling in many places except to offer protection from some elements, and that had been the afternoon she’d truly understood the power of a kiss.

She had been sitting up in the bed, listening to the birds outside. Edmund had left every window furled wide open, and during the night, vines had begun to grow within the king’s room, and though Daphne had smiled apologetically, he hadn’t looked fazed in the least. 

Instead, he leaned forward, kissing her. Daphne leaned into the embrace, still learning what it meant to show the depth of her love in an altogether-human sort of way, but it was certainly not unpleasant. Summer-warm lips pressed against his, feeling his pulse, and her pulse, and the way they fit together. 

               SHE HAD HEARD whispers on nearly-still limbs that the kings and queens of old had somehow returned to Narnia’s land. And to that, Daphne had sped on quickened foot, brashly cutting through Telmarine land, to the place where Narnians had been rumored to be meeting. She hadn’t gone before, when a low and rumbling call had made her heart pause for a moment, because there had been work to be done in the Western March, and she had had her heart broken already. Her limbs felt ancient, though youth still coursed through her with reckless abandon. And perhaps it was that foolish youth which found her breaking through the tree line, hand coming up to her lips when she saw how utterly young they all were once again. Younger still than her memory painted them. The excited whispers in the clearing broke to a pregnant silence as she stepped forward, her old-style dress even more archaic than it had already been when they had first been crowned. Perhaps it was her reputation which preceded her, or perhaps it was just the stricken, unsure look painted across her features which caused the crowd to part and the clearing to mute. 

               THEY HAD BEEN sitting in silence in the garden. Daphne, content to the stillness, had sat back, letting her skin be warmed and welcomed by the sun. In her peace, small buds and flowers had begun to sprout around her and the king, though she paid them little attention. Instead, she lay with her eyes closed, though she could hear the rustle as the just king turned another page in her book. Sometimes, she would ask him to read to her, as trees had no use to know words printed on paper ( their paper! ), but today, they had sat in companionable silence. Her wild, golden mane had been barely tamed into a braid which now was slung over one shoulder, in which a mantle of different blossoms had been threaded. Lazily, she reached up, feeling the velvet-soft petal of one, bringing it back to its morning glory before it had been plucked for the day. 

She opened her eyes, seeing the king still sitting, but noticing that the light tunic he had been wearing in lieu of more formal garb ( she had finally convinced him that she cared very little for the finery of the court ) had untied and revealed a knot of faded, pink skin. Daphne was not HUMAN, and therefore had no notion that reaching out would be met with anything other than curious acceptance. When he jumped, she first thought she had startled him from his thoughts, but his recoil, hand over his scar, proved otherwise.