Thoughts, Quotes, and Snippets

“To what purpose?” Y/N tugged at him, and when he didn’t look over, her soft hand brushed his cheek to coax his gaze to her. “We’ve been over it all. It’s time for us to refocus on the ball tomorrow night.” 

The ball celebrating her new role in Narnia. What was the point of celebrating Y/N's place in Narnia if Edmund wasn’t sure he could keep her alive?

He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long breath.

A paw landed on his shoulder. “Your Majesty, you will worry yourself ragged.” 

Edmund looked up into the bear’s kind eyes. “Do not trouble yourself with me.” He patted her paw before moving for the door. “I must prepare for the ball tomorrow night." He could almost feel the healers exchanging glances with his wife behind his back.

As he walked down the hallway, he tried to remember Rabadash’s exact threats on the day of the wedding.

He’d said something about killing her while she was sleeping. Edmund ensured the door was locked every night and slept on the side of the bed closest to the door. Anyone coming in would have to walk by him to get to her. Then there’d been something about Y/N being left alone. Y/N was rarely alone. Even when she thought she was alone in the gardens, he always had one of the eagles or gryphons watching from above. The third thing was poison. He remembered that one the clearest. A sleight of hand over a wine goblet, Rabadash had said.

It was the avenue hardest to block. Edmund couldn’t be in the kitchens himself to prepare her meals, because he didn’t know the first thing about cooking other than how much he enjoyed the products of it. In all their years at Cair Paravel, Edmund and his siblings refused to have tasters. The idea of distrusting their own people so completely as to have a safeguard against poison was not the Narnia any of them wanted to create. 

But now, Edmund wished there was a way. 

Perhaps he would start tasting all her food and drink first from now on.

When Edmund reached his destination on the ground floor of the palace, he made a beeline for the head cook—a kindly woman named Mrs. Dolie. Looking up from her soup, she did not seem the least bit surprised to see him, likely because of the scene he’d caused in the kitchen the day before while looking for the kitchen maid who’d given Rona the goblet for Y/N.

“Your Majesty.” She gave a little curtsy. 

“The ball is tomorrow night.” 

She glanced around, as if drawing his attention to the flurry of people and creatures preparing the feast. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Edmund stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I need you to prepare Y/N’s meal yourself. Do not let anyone else handle a single crumb on her plate.” He loosed a breath. “I know this makes your job more difficult, but you’re the only one I trust right now.”

The nod she gave him was grim. She hated the idea that poison might’ve come out of her kitchen just as much as Edmund did. “I will handle it all, Your Majesty. I will even serve it to her myself.”

“Thank you.” Edmund looked directly in her eyes so she could be assured he meant every word. “You have my undying gratitude.”

-

Is there such a thing as knowing a person too well? I wondered as I made my way to the kitchens. If he was so concerned about poison, there’s one place Edmund would go other than the healers. And considering that’s where I’d just come from…

I sighed. Worrying was never a good thing, but like many things, my husband was especially skilled at it. 

“Y/N?”

I stopped on the second step down to the kitchens, turning to face a grave Queen Susan. “Your Majesty.” I quickly returned to the top of the stairs. “Is something the matter?”

“No, not at all! Your brothers just had a little mishap with their outfits for the ball, but we got the situation rectified.” Her smile was late and harried.

That couldn’t be the reason she wanted to talk to me. What would be the point in telling me about a problem when it was already resolved? Even if it wasn’t resolved, my brothers were grown men, they could handle their own problems. 

“Is there…anything else?” I asked, trying to keep my eyes on her face instead of glancing over my shoulder in the direction of the kitchens. How long would Edmund be talking with the kitchen staff?

“I confess…” Queen Susan trailed off, looking uncomfortable. “I feel quite guilty.”

“Guilty?” I echoed before realizing what she meant. “No, Your Majesty, the Calormene assassin wasn’t your fault.”

“If I hadn’t entertained Rabadash as a suitor, he never would’ve gone to the lengths that he has to hurt you.”

“You’ve met him,” I said shortly. “You know he’s selfish enough to pursue you regardless of your interests.”

“But if he hadn’t felt so slighted when I left–”

I quickly reached out to squeeze her hand, belatedly wondering where I’d gotten the nerve. “The only one responsible for Rabadash’s actions,” I said clearly, “is Rabadash himself. If anyone deserves to feel guilty, it’s him and perhaps the Tisroc.”

She bit her lip, looking unconvinced. “I’ve been cold,” she said, looking apologetic. “I felt guiltier when I was around you, so I’ve been staying away, but…” She furrowed her brows. “You’re my new sister. You’re part of my family now, and I don’t want to miss out.”

I smiled. “Your Majesty, I would love nothing more.”

“Please call me Susan.” It was her turn to squeeze my hand. “Siblings hardly bother with titles.” Then she laughed. “Well, at least mine don’t.”

“Rabadash probably forces his siblings to use his,” I offered and she pulled a face as if she'd stepped into mud and then realized it was something else.

“He would.”

We laughed together, and I felt remarkably lighter. I’d noticed Edmund’s older sister being a bit distant, but I’d always known Susan to be private and reserved. Now the last sibling had given me permission to use her first name only. The air was clear, and now I was unofficially a part of the family beyond my marriage to Edmund. It was these thoughts that led me to smile brightly at Susan. 

But her harried look had returned. “I do have other news, and I think Edmund will receive it better from you.”

-

As I lingered outside the kitchens, I wondered if it was too soon to demand a favor from Susan when we’d just become true sisters. But no, she was right. The news would be best coming from me…if I ever decided to walk into the kitchens and catch Edmund. I told myself I wasn’t going in because I didn’t want to interrupt him. In all likelihood, I was just prolonging the inevitable in the vain hopes that it wouldn’t be as bad as I thought. 

When Edmund ducked out of the kitchen, his severe expression seemed to have eased slightly. When he noticed me, his expression smoothed altogether. I hated seeing him trying to cover up his feelings. 

“Are you satisfied now that you’ve added Mrs. Dolie to your ranks?” I asked him. 

He looked down at the floor.  “How’d you know I was here?” 

“Because I know you. You’ve been worrying non-stop since yesterday.” Well, since long before yesterday, but I’d let him believe he was successfully hiding how much he’d been worrying over me since before our wedding. 

“You are worrisome,” he replied, before crinkling his nose. “I meant that you’re worth worrying about.”

I laughed even as the telltale warmth spread through my chest. “You’re worrisome too, Edmund.” I’d hoped for a smile, but Edmund merely gestured for us both to climb the stairs. I wanted to try again to make him smile…but I had news to deliver that would likely make him start recruiting every creature down to pigeons to protect me. “I have to tell you something,” I told him as he walked behind me, finding it a bit easier with Edmund behind me so I couldn’t see his face. 

“I already know the rest of the tournament has been canceled,” Edmund said dully. 

I rolled my eyes. “I happen to know you’re the one who pushed for it to be canceled, even if you did hold the council meeting while the healers were looking me over.”

“So what’s the bad news?”

Reaching the top of the stairs, I turned to face him and took a fortifying breath. “A gryphon spotted a party making their way to Cair Paravel this morning.” 

Edmund furrowed his brows. “People from Anvard coming for the ball?”

I shook my head. “They are wearing Calormene fashion.”

“WHAT?!”

-

Not being allowed to leave my father's castle in Anvard, I'd never been received in Narnian court as a foreign ambassador. This was the first time of hopefully many I was one of the royal family doing the receiving. As such, I didn't know how these occasions normally went, but I assumed it was not usually so dour. As a show of strength, Narnian soldiers were lining the walls with tense expressions and weapons gripped. Curtains had been tied back to allow the bright sunshine to fill the room. All the monarchs sat on their thrones, wearing their crowns with straight, powerful posture. Their relaxed outfits had been replaced with formal wear. The picture was striking and intimidating. 

The thought of changing my outfit hadn’t even crossed my mind, so I hung back at the side of the room next to a gryphon. I clearly still had much to learn. Thank Aslan I turned down being Narnia’s third queen. What a fool I would've made of myself. No, I could serve Narnia much better by standing aside. Besides, Edmund’s throne was on the end, so I was near enough in case he needed me. 

No sooner had I thought this, than did Edmund shift in his throne to scan the room. With the clench of his jaw, I almost considered ducking behind the gryphon to avoid his attention, but his eyes found me before I could even try. Wordlessly, he held out his hand. 

My cheeks burned as I felt every soldier’s attention on me. The gryphon even took a step back to allow me an easier path forward. But I didn’t belong among the thrones with the kings and queens. I shook my head minutely in an attempt to not draw more attention to myself, and Edmund’s eyebrows furrowed. Then he stood up, whisking over to me and linking his fingers with mine. “C’mon,” was all he said before tugging me with him. And when had I ever been able to deny him?

The dais was only a few inches tall, and yet the whole room looked smaller when I stood on it. Edmund led me straight to his throne, keeping his hand in mine while he sat and I awkwardly hovered. I didn’t belong there. I hadn’t earned it. I wasn’t prepared for it. But Edmund brushed his thumb against mine, and I knew I couldn’t move away. 

“Your Majesties.” A faun came close enough to lower his voice and still be heard. “His Highness Prince Rabadash is leading the party.”

Edmund’s grip on my hand tightened. Peter thanked the faun and glanced over at his brother. Edmund was staring straight ahead, eyes locked on the door that Rabadash was about to walk through. I wished more than ever that I’d changed into something more regal. The idea of Rabadash judging my plain dress made my stomach turn.

But when Rabadash walked in, his eyes were not on me nor Edmund nor even Susan. He kept his eyes on Peter, looking worryingly cordial. “Your majesties,” he inclined his head, “I hope you'll forgive my intrusion, but once I heard of the treasonous attack on the life of the king's new wife, I insisted upon coming myself." He placed his hands on his chest. "Your Majesties, the attack was not in any way affiliated with my country.”

Peter leaned forward. “The man is from Calormen. He’s been shouting in the dungeons non-stop about the superiority of your land and people.” 

Rabadash bowed fully this time, the very picture of humility if it weren’t for the gold tassels dangling from his clothing. “Your Majesty, I would never condone such action.” Finally, his gaze swiveled to mine with enough confidence, I knew he’d seen me there already. “Princess Y/N, you must accept my formal apology.” He stepped closer, and Edmund’s knee shifted as if he were preparing to stand. 

I wasn’t sure if I was to accept or reject him, so I remained silent as I glanced at the kings and queens. 

Queen Lucy’s eyes were narrowed. “You should be aware that it takes more than pretty words to absolve you after your history with our country.”

“Of course, of course.” Rabadash spread his hands grandly. “I bring gifts!” He paused, but only the men from his own party granted him applause that echoed in the large room. Two large bundles were brought forward by soldiers, and Rabadash gestured to me. 

Edmund stood, his free hand on his sword. “Open the gifts first, Rabadash.”

“Your Majesty, that defeats the point of a gift!” Rabadash cried with almost believable distress. 

Nothing the prince could do would convince Edmund. “Do it.”

With a heavy sigh, Rabadash opened the first bundle to reveal a heavy golden necklace laden with jewels of every color. I couldn’t fathom the cost of such a piece, which made Rabadash’s reverence seem more genuine as he delicately took it in his hand and held it up to let it glint in the sun streaming in from the windows.

I glanced at the monarchs, and most of them seemed as unswayed by the gift as I’d expected. Narnia had far more precious things than gold and jewels. Susan, however, looked pale and stared unblinkingly at the necklace as if it were about to burst into flames. The necklace meant something to her. 

Rabadash unfurled the second bundle, and I sucked in a quiet breath. It was an animal skin, large enough to be from a bear. While that was horrifying enough in a country of talking animals, I didn’t think anyone else in the room would know what I did. The particular red tinge of the bear skin was specific to Archenlandian bears. 

He’d skinned one of my country’s animals. 

The prince beamed. “See? No harm intended through these gifts.”

Peter gestured to the faun standing by the door. “Please take the gifts from the Calormen prince.” 

Rabadash neared the thrones again. “I did hear that there is a ball being thrown tomorrow in the princess’s honor. I would be humbly delighted to show Calormen’s support by attending.”

Peter, Susan, and Lucy were all scowling, but the combined weight of their displeasure was nothing compared to the terrible expression on Edmund’s face. 

His eyes did not blink, his lips were pressed together so tightly that they could barely be seen, and every facial muscle appeared to be tensed. He stared at Rabadash like the Calormen prince was an abomination to be sent straight to the pits of hell. He leant forward with his hands gripping the arms of his throne, like he was actively restraining himself from flying at Rabadash in a passion. There was no trace of goodness or mercy in him; he was wrath personified. 

It was frightening to behold. 

Perhaps it was that fear which made me settle my hand placatingly on his arm. His head snapped down to where my fingers brushed his sleeve, staring at it for a moment before lifting his eyes to mine. The severity of his expression did not dissipate. It would take far more than my actions to douse his fervor. 

“Discuss it with your council,” I murmured.

On Edmund’s other side, I saw Peter nod at my words and lean over to spread the message to his sisters. But Edmund did not look away from me, so I had to bear the full brunt of his incredulity. 

He looked so disappointed, it made my heart clench.

But Peter was standing now. “Prince Rabadash, you have given our council much to speak of. We would request that you withdraw from the castle and remain outside the castle walls while we deliberate.”

Rabadash gave another artful bow and turned to leave. 

The throne room emptied, Rabadash’s men following him, the council members retreating to the council room, and the others dispersing back to their roles. 

Edmund, however, remained seated, his fists clenched. “Hey.” I tugged at his hand the way he had mine. “Let’s go.”

With a spectacular glare in Rabadash’s direction, Edmund finally gave in. Though he kept his grip on my hand, he stalked towards the council room with little regard for how difficult it was to keep up with him.

“Wait,” I said breathlessly. “Hold on.”

Stiffly, he came to a stop. “What’s wrong? Is it your shoe?”

“No, we need to talk.”

With a grunt, Edmund kept walking but I sped up to get in front of him and root myself in place. “Edmund,” I said as sternly as I could. 

“I don’t want to talk,” he growled, then made to walk around me.

I braced my hands on his shoulders and looked him dead in the eye. “On our wedding day, you vowed to do something if I asked.” He came to a stop with his ferocity dimming. “And I’m asking you to tell me why you’re so angry and worried.” 

He let out a long breath, not making any other sound.

“What is it about Rabadash that has you so angry?” I asked with significantly more gentleness than before. “It’s more than just his attitude and audacity.” He covered his face with his hands, shoulders rising and falling under my hands with the force of his breathing. “Please tell me.”

“Don’t make me say it.” He pulled his hands away, and I was shocked to see the redness around his eyes. “Please.”

I moved my hands to his neck, trying to soothe him with my touch. “Whatever it is, I know we can handle it with the two of us and your family and our people.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle it. I’m supposed to protect you.” He frowned. “It’s the first vow I made to you on our wedding day.”

“Please,” I begged. “I’ve been left in the dark for so many years. Don’t leave me in the dark now.” 

Edmund hung his head and let out a heavy sigh. “Rabadash…on our wedding day…threatened your life.”

I blinked. “Overtly?”

“As overtly as he ever speaks.” Edmund’s hands brushed my waist and lingered as if to remain, but he quickly dropped them and pulled away from me. “He implied that killing you would be easy for him.”

So that’s why Edmund panicked about the snake, the tournament assassin, and idea of poison. “Oh, Edmund.” I cradled his cheek. “No wonder you’ve been so on edge. You’ve been shouldering that alone this whole time?”

“Peter knows,” Edmund confessed. “He…is not as alarmed as I am.”

“No one is ever as alarmed as you are,” I said with a little smile, but he did not laugh. 

“We’re late for the council meeting.”

“Wait–” But my husband forged ahead, clearly finished with lingering. I followed him into the council room which was full of the impassioned words of the monarchs, caws of the raven, the hoots of the owl, and the shouts of the centaur. They all agreed: Rabadash needed to go. 

“Send him back to his land immediately!” 

“Forbid him from ever returning!”

“Throw him in the dungeons!”

Whether everyone in the room had personally experienced Rabadash’s vanity and greed, they all remembered how he’d treated their queen and his plan to overthrow their beloved monarchs. Their anger resonated in my own chest. I knew how it felt for my country to be threatened by his arrogance and greed.

But deeper than that were my chess instincts. The enemy’s moves were the most important piece of information one could have. Sending him away was like focusing on creating a picture with one’s own pieces. 

Susan remained silent, still wearing the haunted expression from when she’d seen the necklace. Having been rattled by Prince Rabadash myself, I worried for her. 

Peter raised his hand, and the outcry quieted. “Seems to me that there are two we have not heard from yet.” But Peter turned not to me, but to the magical woman with the burn scars on her hand. “Your thoughts?”

Edmund sat up a little straighter. Whoever this woman was, he respected her opinion greatly, which only made my curiosity rise. The woman glanced around at the councilors, seemingly unbothered by the silence as the whole room waited for her words. 

“I think,” she said slowly, “that sending him away is short-sighted.” 

The lovely beaver let out a little sigh. “We must protect our people,” she replied. “He is dangerous.”

“Yes, there’s no denying that.” The magical woman braced her elbows on the table. “But when has he ever respected our borders? If he truly wants to stay, isn’t it better for him to stay where we can observe him until he is satisfied and returns home?”

“And Princess Y/N?” Peter asked, confirming I was indeed the second person he had mentioned. 

Everyone's attention would've been overwhelming if my own opinion wasn't burning in my chest. This was my moment to speak my mind for what I thought was wise, even if Edmund disagreed. But before I could speak, as the magical woman had, I looked at all the faces of those in the council. All looked impassioned or enraged, but my older sister-in-law sat staring down at the table. “I want to hear what Susan thinks," I blurted before I could change my mind.

Susan’s attention slid over to the magical woman and then to me. In that moment, when the three of us women looked in each other’s eyes, I knew that we were all united in thought. When Susan spoke, she addressed it not to myself nor the woman nor Peter. “Edmund, there’s no better way to know what he’s planning than to let him stay.”

“If not knowing is the price to pay for his departure,” Edmund cut in, “then I’m willing for us to pay it.”

“Maybe now,” I replied. “But later, when we’re sitting around waiting and worrying? We might wish we’d done differently.”

A crazed look winked in Edmund’s eyes, his impatience souring into desperation. “I’ll worry about keeping everyone safe at that time!”

I glanced around at the group, wishing I was alone with him to finish this conversation. But in front of these people who showed nothing but kindness? I could take the leap to speak my mind how only I could. “He’s playing white. He’s going on the offense, and the only way for us to know how to beat him is to watch the moves he makes.”

“This isn’t a game of chess, Y/N!” Edmund seemed surprised by his own volume and cast a distressed look around at the shocked and disapproving faces of the council. The quick clearing of his throat spoke of embarrassment as he looked back at me. “The risk isn’t worth it.”

I could tell from his face that the loaded silence that followed weighed on Edmund as much as myself. “It depends on Your Majesties,” the magical woman said finally. “The rest of us are here only to advise.”

I didn’t have a vote due to refusing the queendom. Should I be regretting that?

“I think he should stay,” Susan ventured. 

Peter nodded. “Agreed.” 

“He needs to leave,” Edmund insisted. 

All eyes slid to Lucy, who was gnawing on her lip. Clearly she hated having her siblings disagree, and I wondered how seldom it happened. If she agreed with Edmund, that brought things to a tie. She wrung her hands once. Twice. Thrice. She took a deep breath. “Edmund,” she said gently, “I know you’re scared, but–”

Edmund stood from the table, his chair legs screeching against the floor. He looked ill as he surveyed his siblings. “Somebody go share the prince’s good news with him. If I do it, I’ll end up breaking his nose instead.” 

-

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

White Moves First tag list:

“Y/L/N.” Malfoy sat at the seat across from me, instantly blocking my view of George. 

I elegantly brought a bite of oatmeal to my lips. “Need something?”

“No, but you do.” 

Instantly, my sense of danger flared. “What’s going on?” 

“If you weren’t avoiding the common room, you would’ve heard.” Malfoy glanced around at the table. “Look, there’s about to be some news in the Daily Prophet.” The gravity in his cold, gray eyes quickened my heart as he pursed his lips. 

Something happened. 

Something happened, and the Slytherins didn’t want to be around for the fallout. 

Malfoy nodded at whatever expression was on my face and rose to his feet to sweep out of the Great Hall. 

News that the Slytherins knew before the newspapers could only be a handful of subjects. News that was about to blow up this peaceful breakfast was an even smaller group, all related to one person.

The Dark Lord.

My eyes found George again, this time on purpose. His head was thrown back in a laugh that carried farther than those around him, an arm stretching out to shove Lee Jordan’s shoulder. Any minute now, the owls would come flying in, eyes would scan the front page, and that smile would die immediately. 

Would his eyes fill with anxiety? Or would the shock not wear off before he left the hall? Would he look at me? Would he guess at the role my family might’ve played in whatever atrocities had occurred? 

I didn’t want to see that. But it was about to happen regardless, and simply knowing it would haunt me just the same as seeing it. Didn’t I deserve to see it? To have that image in my brain? It was the penance that someone in my family needed to bear, and there was only ever one member of my family that ever bore it. 

The crowd of owls flooded in, bringing letters, scrolls, and parcels—and rolled up newspapers.

My copy of the Daily Prophet landed in front of me about the same time as everyone else’s, but everyone else was distracted by their friends or food. With no such distractions, I quickly untied the newspaper roll and flattened the front page down on the table. 

DARK MARK SPOTTED IN LAVENHAM — THREE DEAD BODIES FOUND 

My stomach fell through the floor as I read. No signs of injury were found on the bodies, only terror frozen on their faces. Characteristic of the Killing Curse, the Dark Lord’s favorite weapon.

I hadn’t finished the article, but I didn’t need the extra information to let the event sink in. Instead, I watched. 

It started with a murmur. 

Then a rush.

Then everyone knew. Some were clamoring to each other to discuss while others sat in silence, staring down at the paper. Professor Sprout sat with her hands over her mouth while Professor McGonagall spoke with Professor Flitwick in low tones. 

Professor Snape sat, staring down at his paper with his pale face impassive. I wished I was as good at pretending as he. 

Finally, I took a deep breath and looked towards George. 

Lee Jordan and Fred were gesturing towards the paper as they talked, the other Weasley siblings crowding around. Granger and Potter were there too. Distantly, I recalled that Potter had been telling anyone who would listen that the Dark Lord had risen again, yet he didn’t look victorious at being confirmed. He and Granger were both pale, shaking their heads in disbelief as the Weasleys clamored. 

And George sat in the center of it all, looking over Lee Jordan’s shoulder at me.

A horrible, blistering guilt sank into my very core as our eyes met. He looked as though he were going to be sick, but his gaze wasn’t accusatory. 

It should’ve been. 

We were on opposite sides, of the Hall and of this war. 

But no, the grief in his eyes did not cast shame on me.

Which only made me cast more shame on myself. 

-

I’d been in a daze all day, and everyone else in the castle seemed to be the same. Most of the students and professors were distracted and fearful, while most of the Slytherins acted as though we were in enemy territory.

Professor Umbridge conducted her class as though nothing about today was different from any other day. Strange, that would’ve been my response too and yet I hated her for it. 

It was almost a relief to reach Divination and be given an assignment that required us to lay on the mossy floor and stare up at the enchanted ceiling full of the stars. Some book somewhere must’ve held the spell that Professor Firenze used in classroom eleven, and I was determined to find it someday because that classroom afforded the day’s only modicum of peace. 

Around me, my fellow seventh years were trying to finish the day’s assignment, but my completed scroll already sat on the professor’s desk. 

Watching the constellations, I rubbed the tiny star charm on my pewter necklace between my fingers. My parents and most of the other Slytherins’ parents held very little stock in Divination, but I’d seen it as another easy N.E.W.T. 

I didn’t need the class for a career since witches in my family didn’t work, but another Outstanding on my report could not be a bad thing. I didn’t believe in the interpretations I made or that stars miraculously held answers about the future. I cared only about checking the box. 

But laying on my back in the dark, I suddenly wished Divination was real, if only to have reassurances. 

Would my parents send me a letter soon? Would Umbridge zero in on my brother again? Would Warrington and the other Slytherins start trying to bully me again? 

Was war truly on the horizon? Which side would win and how many would die?

Would I be able to tell George what he needed to hear soon? Would I become the person he seemed to already see? Or would the world catch up to us and separate us before we’d even truly come together?

Distantly, the bells in the tower rang, signaling the end of class. Those who hadn’t finished their assignment would have to finish it before next class, and they grumbled about it. Some even put their unfinished scrolls on Professor Firenze’s desk, clearly preferring to worry about other things. 

I lingered even after the stragglers, not wanting to get caught in the hallway during the passing period. Funny, I was more used to avoiding the other houses more than Slytherin, and yet today the whole idea of avoidance felt heavier somehow. 

A massive hand clapped my shoulder, and I spun around with my wand in hand before I registered that it was Professor Firenze. 

Feeling off balance with the weight of his hand on me, I blinked up at the centaur. “Sorry, sir, I thought you–”

“You don’t have long.”

I watched him, confused and worried by the solemn expression on his face. “Excuse me?” 

“The answer to your question.” He removed his hand, yet his eyes bored into mine with the intensity and beauty of a full moon. “Before the snow melts.”

My surprise didn’t wear off quickly enough, and he clopped over to his private quarters. 

“Wait–which question?!” I called as the door shut and remained closed. Only one answer? But I’d wanted to know so many things!

Would the letter come? Would war start? Would George and I make it to the next step?

I didn’t know.

But what I did know was that, by springtime, something would change. 

-

“What could possibly be the point of giving Harry the map,” Fred was saying, “if you keep borrowing it?”

“You know exactly what the point is,” George replied, scouring the parchment for Y/N. 

Fred’s grumblings weren’t quite comprehensible, and George didn’t bother trying to puzzle it out. He’d hoped his family and their friends would relax after spending the holiday with Y/N, and it had worked on his parents, Charlie, and Bill. His mother kept asking about Y/N and Clem, if they were eating enough and dressing warmly for the weather. But all those still at Hogwarts seemed guarded, and Fred particularly more so afterwards than before. Y/N refused to tell George about any of the conversations she’d been bombarded with, no matter how many times he asked. 

Would that woman ever tell him all her secrets? 

Merlin, George hoped so. 

And he hoped one of those secrets would contain the reason behind her expression this morning. While his friends and family had been ranting about You-Know-Who, she’d looked at him with devastation. Devastation for him, he was pretty sure. But why?

“There she is,” he muttered before folding up the map and shoving it into Fred’s hands.

“George!” Fred called.

“Busy!” George called back over his shoulder, jogging towards the new Divination classroom occupied by Professor Firenze. 

The bells rang while he ran, and he quickly planted himself down the hallway from the classroom as the students began filing out. None of them spoke about the subject—George suspected no one in the whole castle was speaking about coursework today.

Gradually, the hallway emptied, and he still hadn’t seen Y/N. His breathing had calmed down after his run, which was good. He didn’t want her to know that he’d been seeking her out so intentionally. He wanted to simply appear like he’d been doing all week with the help of the Marauder’s Map. 

Despite all his efforts, when Y/N stepped out of the classroom, she nearly jumped when her eyes fell on him. 

“Are you going to the match tomorrow?” George asked easily, sliding his hands into his pockets and leaning against the wall. He always did this around Y/N; he’d read somewhere that it was a way to appear less threatening, and he needed all the help he could get to not trigger Y/N’s hypervigilance. 

“Urm…” Y/N blinked distractedly, as if not fully aware of the current moment. “The library’s quiet during matches.”

Quiet. She was always looking for quiet. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by George that every time his family had gotten rowdy over the break, Y/N found a way to disappear. No wonder she sometimes avoided him—he wasn’t necessarily a great provider of silence. 

He wondered what it would take for her to grow loud herself. He couldn’t even imagine it. But maybe if he hung around long enough, he’d get to hear it. “I was just wondering if–” 

“Look,” she shoved her Divination book into her bag, “I’ve got to go. See you later?” And before George could utter a word, she turned on her heel and glided down the stairs in her tastefully easy way, the way she moved when she was trying not to draw attention to herself. 

George did not do a thing to slow her down or change her course. He merely stared after her. He’d known their conversation on Christmas Day would spook her, but recently he’d caught her watching him more than he’d ever imagined she’d watch him. That had to mean something…right? 

Was there a single thing he could do to help her open up? 

Nothing he hadn’t already done. 

He sighed before turning around to return to his twin. His promise to wait for her was ringing in his ears. Waiting was turning out to be a lot harder than he’d anticipated.

-

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There wasn’t much at all to say in favor of the room, except for its north-facing window, high up enough to give Prince a perfect view of the castle gatehouse. When Princess and Guard returned, the only person to see them arrive before Prince would be the lookout in the gatehouse itself. 

Still full of nervous energy and unable to stand still, Prince opened the chest, wedging himself against the wall to rummage through the contents. He bumped the open lid with his elbow, causing it to slam shut. If he hadn’t moved his hand in the nick of time, he’d be down five appendages. 

He sighed, sitting down on the chest. 

This is what he’d been reduced to? His concern had turned him into a lurker and a snoop. He was better than this. Shaking his head, Prince shut the drapes and left the bedchamber. 

Princess and Guard would return when they would return, and nothing Prince could do now would speed their arrival. 

Sitting down at his desk, Prince was just scooting his chair closer to it when the doors of his study burst open with such aggression, the doors banged the walls. 

Brother strode into the study. A sick feeling in his stomach, Prince rose to his feet. Only the most pressing of emergencies would send his brother here in this fashion. “What has happened?”

“I need you to remain calm,” Brother said, as if his arrival and the furrowing of his brows inspired serenity.

Prince stared back, his heart thundering.

She’s dead, he thought faintly. He’s about to tell me my wife is dead. 

Brother clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ve just discovered…that Princess left the castle today alone with one of the castle guards. I should’ve been told immediately, but my guards didn’t tell me until just now.”

Prince did not move, reeling from the whiplash. So…Brother was just here to tell him that his wife was with another man? He tried to break through the sudden numbness that had settled over him. How should he act? Surprised? To roar as a jealous husband would and then tell his brother that he would handle it? Or maybe denial was the most convincing response, as Prince still couldn’t believe the situation himself. 

But Prince knew it was too late for all that when Brother’s urgent expression loosened into a shock of his own. “You…you knew.” His eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”

Sitting back down in his chair and propping his elbows on the chair to rest his head on his hands, Prince tried to take a deep breath. 

The lying was too much. He was tired of it. He spent so much energy concealing this secret from all he could, and now his own flesh and blood stood before him, feeling betrayed. Prince should feel betrayed. He didn’t have it left in him. “I sent them. Princess wanted to see the falls for her birthday.”

“But alone?” Brother demanded. “It’s completely preposterous, especially for you! Why would you put her safety at risk simply…”

The silence in the study was deafening, but Prince found all he needed to in the growing look of horror on Brother’s face. Brother knew. Prince expected relief at the secret now carried by two backs instead of one, but he just felt hollow. Brother, however, seemed full of rage. “How long has this been happening?”

Belatedly, Prince remembered Guard’s threat. So far, Prince hadn’t confirmed anything, not shared any facts or feelings, but Guard was not a man of honor. It would not matter that the secret had come out in other ways; once it was out, Guard would have no hesitation in bringing ruin upon the kingdom. “You must not tell anyone,” Prince said lowly. 

The ferocity of Brother’s glare could set Prince aflame. “Have you gone balmy?!”

“I’m telling you, if this gets out, it could bring war to this castle, not to mention what it would do to Princess’s reputation.”

“Reputation?” Brother echoed. “If you were so concerned about her reputation, what possessed you to send your wife off with her lover?!”

Prince held his brother’s furious gaze. “Because I love her.”

“That’s very sweet,” Brother said, the sarcasm rattling in the empty space of Prince’s chest, “but she clearly doesn’t care a whit for you or this kingdom! I mean, you must be a dunce to do such a thing!”

“Perhaps I am,” Prince murmured, his quiet words quite the offset to Brother’s volume. “But regardless of that and despite the fact that she doesn’t care a whit for me, I would do anything to make her happy.”

“Then buy her jewels! O-or a new dress, women like dresses! Don’t let her cavort around with another man, not when she is yours!”

Mine. 

Pairing that word with the image in Prince’s mind of a laughing Princess running through the garden didn’t sit right. She wasn’t his. She didn’t want to be his. She was her own. Her own to give to who she wanted, and that was not him. 

Slowly shaking his head, Prince folded his hands together. “I won’t force my love on her.”

“Then have her live in the same chastity you have chosen!”

Prince’s eyes lowered to the cracking skin of his knuckles, realizing he’d forgotten to put salve on them after cleaning Princess’s saddle. There was a bit of blood that had seeped through and dried in a dark red. “No one should live a life devoid of love. It is lonely, and out of all the things I wish for her, loneliness is the farthest.” 

“She has friends, ladies-in-waiting, pets, and more money than she could ever spend. She does not need some mere soldier for some fantasy of love!” 

“It’s not the love she imagines it is,” Prince admitted, looking up to fix his brother with a hard stare. “She does not need to be wise, I can be wise for her. But she does need to be happy, because I can’t be happy for her.” 

“How…” Brother trailed off, looking quite overwhelmed. “I know that love is not always rational, but how can you still protect her?”

Not always rational. 

Prince wanted to laugh. Nothing about Princess or his feelings for her were governed by logic or reason. “I don’t know. If I knew how to make the feelings stop…” He paused. Would he actually get rid of his love if he could? He didn’t know. 

Brother let out an aggravated breath. “Well, I hope you trust Guard.”

Prince looked up questioningly. 

Brother gestured at the window behind Prince. “It’s begun to rain.”

Slowly, Prince rotated towards his window to see that his brother was right. Grey clouds had hidden the sun, and droplets were starting to fall against the glass. Prince glanced at the clock. It was past four in the afternoon. 

They should’ve been back by now.

-

“Send every soldier we can spare!” Prince roared. “No one rests until the princess is safely returned!” The thunder boomed, emphasizing his distress. The soldiers were all pulling cloaks over their heads as they ran into the stables, preparing to ride out into the growing darkness. The rain made it nearly impossible to see, and it would quench any torch. 

Prince watched them ride off to the north together, towards the falls. Somewhere along the way, they’d find Guard and Princess. 

He clenched and unclenched his jaw. If war came, then he'd deal with it.

Prince didn’t care if Guard hated being caught; the feelings of a wretched man such as he were irrelevant when compared to the importance of the princess’s safety. 

As for Guard's threat...

“They’ll find her,” Brother said. “I’ve trained with them, they’re highly capable.”

“What I wouldn’t give to be you,” Prince mumbled. His brother got to train with the soldiers; Prince had to deal with the council. Brother had the safety of his trainings while Prince had to bow to every rule to accomplish anything. But most of all, Brother wasn’t staring at one of the worst storms, wondering if the love of his life would survive.

It was agony for Prince to know Princess was missing and know he would be useless out in the rain looking for her compared to his soldiers. 

A shadow moved, and Prince looked to see one of the stable boys standing in one of the now-empty stalls. “Hello,” he said gently. 

The boy pressed himself against the stall wall. 

“It’s alright.” Prince turned to face the boy, but did not draw closer. “I won’t hurt you. What’s your name?”

“The boy’s mute,” Brother muttered from behind him.

A flush of embarrassment hit Prince. “My apologies.” As he gazed at the boy, he could see the fear on his face and the way the small body shook from head to toe. Prince tried for a kinder tone. “I’m sorry if I’ve frightened you. I promise, you aren’t in any trouble.” The boy didn’t look relieved from the fear. 

Prince knelt down, his right knee landing squarely in the mud that slowly started soaking through his pants. He looked directly into the boy’s eyes. “It’s okay to be scared. I’m scared right now too, which is why I need your help. Can you be brave and help me?”

The boy gave a short nod, edging closer. 

“Can you point in the direction they went?”

The boy blinked a few times, and with each blink, Prince’s heart clenched. Then, ever so slowly, the boy crept to the opening of the stall, lifted his arm and pointed. 

To the south. The opposite direction of the falls. 

Prince wanted to curse, to scream verbal filth at the grey skies. After a moment of keeping his body completely still, he let out a long breath. “Thank you.” He patted the boy’s shoulder and then stood to face his brother. 

“There aren’t any soldiers left to go,” Brother said, in response to his unspoken questions. 

“Then I must go after them myself.” Prince strode towards his horse. 

Brother quickly got in between them. “You’re the heir, you can’t go without an escort!”

“Hang an escort!” Prince shouted, shoving his brother aside. He went to the nearest saddle—the one that had originally been on Princess's horse before he re-saddled it. 

“I know you're worried, but the kingdom cannot lose its crown prince alongside its princess!” 

Prince whirled around, the saddle in his hands. He fixed Brother with the fiercest stare he could. “It will lose me anyway! She is my heart, and a prince cannot rule without his heart!” 

“Sir!” 

Both brothers turned to see two of Brother's personal guards running towards them in the rain. And the sight of the third man held between them made Prince's heart sink. 

Brother breathed a sigh of relief as the guards reached the stable. “You found them.”

But Prince studied the faces of his brother's men. They were stone-faced, as Brother preferred, but the bigger soldier was clenching their charge's arm far harder than necessary, and the smaller one looked as if he’d swallowed a frog.

Guard shook his head. 

The man they held, the man that once called Prince pathetic was now covered in mud all down his pale and drawn face. He didn’t need threats to know the trouble he was in.

"Where did you find him?" he asked the soldiers.

"Sneaking into the barracks."

Prince did not kneel this time, bending over at the waist to bring his face right to Guard's. “Where is she?”

“I know you went south. Did you go to the river? To the marketplace?” 

“Your highness?” the smaller soldier asked.

“What?” said Prince and Brother at the same time.

The man’s face reddened. Apparently the attention of two princes was too much. “Sir, he's talked of growing up in Teorn.”

A village. Five miles south. Twice as far as Queen's Veil Falls.

Prince leveled Guard with a stare. “You took her to your home?”

Guard did not reply, but the tensing of his shoulder was enough. 

Prince’s fists itched to bring a storm of wrath down on the head of this obnoxious, traitorous fiend. But even as satisfying images of bruises and blood ran through his mind, Prince uncurled his hands, looking off towards Brother. “Make sure he’s secured.” He brought his saddle to his horse.

“Where do you think you're going?” Brother asked, grabbing Prince’s shoulder.

Prince yanked his hand away. “You'll have to lock me up to stop me.” As he finished strapping the saddle, the skin on the first knuckle of his right hand split, a singular drop of blood spreading through the crinkles of his skin. 

Brother let out a long sigh before saddling his own horse.

-

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“One of those goat-people showed us to our rooms,” Lady Grace whispered back. “He had actual goat legs. I was terrified the whole time.” I barely withheld my scoff. Lady Grace had the courage of a Dormouse and the depth of a puddle; of course she was terrified of a faun. 

“Perhaps this really is a barbaric country,” Lady Constance replied, lightly fanning her face now. “Prince Rabadash was correct.”

Revulsion swept through me, and I bit my lip to keep from snapping at the two ladies who had no idea I was listening. That was hardly the impression I wanted to make on my first day in the public eye. 

“If I were princess of Archenland,” Lady Grace said, “I would’ve much preferred going to Tashbaan. Did you know it actually snows here?” She shuddered as if feeling the winter chill. 

“Not to mention Tashbaan fashion!” Lady Constance snapped her fan closed for emphasis. “How can Narnia have fashion when it’s only animals?”

I grit my teeth. Weather? Fashion? These were the values these ladies wanted to make life-altering decisions with? Were they truly so ignorant?

“I do love your dress,” Lady Grace complimented Lady Constance. 

I tried to tune them out, but the talk of ribbons, lace, and fabric permeated through everything until I started to feel as though no amount of puce could compare with their finery. I supposed, as I self-consciously smoothed my skirts, that the only concerns Archenland wanted these ladies to have were those sartorial and meteorological. 

Then a thought occurred to me, a thought so horrible that it left no room for anything else. 

As ignorant as these ladies sounded to me…was that how ignorant I sounded to Edmund? Edmund, who knew so many things? I, who knew so little? 

A terrible memory arose in my brain of my wedding night with Edmund. A warrior and a king, forced to listen to me talk about how I preferred my dress to my mother’s. And what about all the times Edmund had listened to my talk of what I was doing with the gardens? My stomach sank straight through the wooden boards of the stands, falling all the way to the core of the earth. Was Edmund mortified by me as I was by these ladies?

Just then, cheering arose as the competitors took to the field, beginning their warm-ups. The unspoken intention behind this time was to allow the competitors to size each other up and decide who they wanted to challenge. 

Corin looked completely natural on the field, having practiced his whole life, but Cor kept glancing around at the other competitors with doubt written all over his face. It seemed far too dangerous for Cor to compete, but he’d said our father expressly told him to participate. Of course my father ordered Cor to participate in a tournament he himself wouldn’t attend.

“The high king’s hair gets darker every year,” Lady Constance mused as she leaned forward to ogle Peter. “Soon, he won’t even be blonde.” 

“Is that King Edmund?” I heard Lady Grace ask and my eyes immediately searched the field until I saw my husband.

Most of the competitors were already wearing their armor, but Edmund’s only defenses were his breeches and a white shirt. The shirt was large enough to fit loosely on Edmund’s frame, but he was already sweating, so parts of the shirt stuck to his skin as his sword slashed through the air and caught the light of the sun.

“The best swordsman in the North,” Lady Constance breathed, and for once, I agreed with her reverence. Edmund was deserving of it. Sitting a little straighter, my eyes followed the movements of Edmund’s arms. The midmorning air was still cool, but my face grew almost unbearably hot. 

He was a man through and through. 

And I was not much more than Lady Grace the Dormouse. 

Lady Constance’s voice broke through my reverie once more. “I wish my husband would compete in these tournaments.”

“It’s not quite the experience you might imagine,” Lady Grace said unhappily. Her husband always competed and never had the burden of sitting at the table of victors at a banquet. 

“Well, at least your husband can compete.” Lady Constance’s fan was flapping again. “My husband’s jowls are starting to reach his collarbones.”

I couldn’t help my horrified grimace, slightly turning my face away from them so as not to draw their attention. How could they be having this conversation in public with no shame?

“Jowls or no,” Lady Grace replied, “his pleasure is still not mine.”

At this, I leaned to the right, towards my sisters-in-law, ready to beg them for conversation if that’s what it took to stop listening in on the travesty happening on my left. But while the Queens’ conversation about one of the lords on the field settled in my ears, my mind was churning.

These ladies were…concerned with…making their husbands happy. As my eyes followed the dark-haired swordsman, guilt swarmed in my gut. Only poor wives didn’t even consider their husband’s happiness. I needed to give him more…but more of what? What could he possibly want from me?

He loves you, said a little voice in my mind, sounding like a cross between the voices of the queens on my right. 

But did he really?

“My lady?” Rona walked up the stairs of the stands towards me with a goblet balanced on a tray. She paid no mind to the attention she must’ve been receiving from everyone else in the stands as she came to a stop near me. “One of the kitchen maids asked me to bring this to you.”

I inhaled the smell, the familiar scent of rose water reaching my nose. My favorite.

Rona, looking as unbothered as she would’ve had she been sewing a button, curtsied. “King Edmund wished for you to have refreshments throughout the day.” Then, she left, tucking the platter under her arm as if she hadn’t just thrown a great complication into my thoughts.

Queen Susan leaned forward to send me a small smile. “A drink for his lady love.” Lucy burst into a fit of giggles.

I tightened my hold on the goblet to keep my hand from shaking. I’d always known Edmund to be a thoughtful man, but a man merely thoughtful would’ve sent refreshments for his sisters as well. So he must’ve been something more than thoughtful. An almost painful sense of urgency arose in my gut, making it impossible to sit still until I knew one way or the other. 

Was I his lady love or a Dormouse?

“Excuse me,” I said lightly to the queens, who both smiled at me, before marching past Lady Constance and Lady Grace with my chin held high. 

A centaur was standing by the stairs of the stands, and he reached out his hand to help me down the steps. He wasn’t one of the ones who gasped when upon descending the stairs, I walked out onto the field. 

-

“Edmund?” 

Edmund was in mid-strike when he heard his wife’s voice. Surely he imagined it, for why would Y/N ever be on the field during warm-ups? But when he looked over his shoulder, there she was with a trail of staring competitors behind her.

Transferring his sword to his left hand to keep the blade farther from her, he reached out his right hand. “What are you doing on the field?”

Was something wrong? He searched the stands behind her. Where was the guard that he’d assigned to watch over her today? Once he saw the centaur standing beside the stands, he studied his friend instead. She didn’t seem worried, but she wore that pucker she always did when she was thinking intensely about something. 

“I wanted to see you.” The gentle clasping of her hand with his didn’t match the fire in her eyes. A glowing determination that made his stomach flip strangely. Reaching up with her free hand, he felt her touch on his neck, bringing her close enough to him that Edmund was suddenly aware of the sweat he was drenched in. 

“I probably don’t smell very good,” he said, quietly so that none of the competitors on the field could hear. He would likely never live it down if they heard him saying such a thing. Sweat was a crucial part of the uniform of champions. 

“I don’t care.” Y/N stepped even closer, pulling slightly on Edmund as her gaze lowered from his face. “Um…I wanted to ask your permission…if it’s alright…” She bit her lip, the fire in her eyes growing muted. 

Edmund frowned. He didn't like that. He didn’t know what she was asking, but he hated that she still felt like she had to ask his permission for simple things. As if she needed it. As if he would refuse her anything. “Of course.” Out of all the outcomes he was expecting, he didn’t expect for Y/N’s eyes to flutter shut. His concern rose astride his confusion, just as she simultaneously pulled him forward and rose up onto her toes.

His eyes grew wide. Was she–

She pressed her lips to his. 

Oh.

His eyes fluttered shut.

Oh.

The crowds all roared their appreciation for the king’s wife, but the roar was a distant thing.

Her lips were so soft, and she kissed him in the lightest possible way she could've while still being considered a kiss. Even in this, after gaining his unnecessary permission, she still moved with hesitance.  

He wanted more of her. 

No, not simply more. He wanted all of her. 

Letting go of her hand, he wrapped his arm around her waist, hauling her to him. He tried to keep his sword arm away from Y/N, not wanting to so much as bump her skin with the heavy weapon. But when Y/N’s tongue brushed his in answer, he heard the distant thud of his sword falling on the grass as both his hands found her waist, pulling her closer into him.

And then her fire was back, burning him through her fingers and her lips, spreading through his body until he was a living flame. 

He couldn’t hold her tight enough, get her close enough to him. She responded by wrapping her arms around his back, holding him firmly. 

This was their third kiss. The others had been skin-deep, for the benefit of others, but this kiss felt different. And so this kiss burned a mark upon his soul, and he would gladly let himself go up in flames for her. 

All too soon, she pulled away, letting out a quiet gasp for air. Edmund probably should’ve let her catch her breath, but it had already been too long since he'd felt her. So he chased her lips and captured them with very little resistance. The little sigh she let out into his mouth made his hands shake. 

Forget the competition, Y/N had already won everything. Or perhaps it was Edmund who’d won. 

The competition. 

The cheering finally broke through his reverie, and he pulled away with intense effort. 

The look on Y/N was somewhere between blissful and satisfied. If he actually had the wherewithal to manage something more than an open mouth, he would’ve looked the same. “Did I…miss something?” he asked, breathless and amused as he continued to hold her tight to him. He was already dreaming of when he’d get to kiss her again. Maybe when he won the tournament?

“I wanted to wish you luck,” she said shyly, her eyes darting all over his face as if checking for signs of discontentment. “Sorry.”

“Don’t…uh, it’s fine.” Edmund’s mind felt so scattered, especially as he decided he needed this kind of luck every day. Her hands still rested on his chest as if she didn’t notice the sweaty shirt underneath her palms and fingers, and he couldn’t help puffing out his chest slightly. 

Y/N noticed the movement and lifted her hands like she were about to pull away, but Edmund quickly caught her hands. “Hey.”

She stopped, looking up at him. “What?”

“For the record,” Edmund squeezed her lightly, content in his bewilderment, “you never have to apologize for kissing me.” He’d expected Y/N to duck her head or cover her warm cheeks, but the smile on her face was only slightly bashful. 

Leaning in, she pressed her lips to his cheek for half a moment, and Edmund’s stomach somersaulted headlong into the flames again. Then, she turned away and walked back towards the stands where the nobles from Archenland and his sisters were all staring. 

Edmund watched her go, blinking. 

“You dropped this.” 

Edmund tore his eyes away from Y/N settling back into her seat to see Peter holding out his sword with a knowing grin on his face. 

“Shut up,” Edmund said, taking his sword back. He meant to continue with his warm-up, but every lift of his sword was half-hearted. 

She'd never kissed him first, he'd always been the one to do it. 

Did this mean she would start doing it more often? 

He wasn't sure what to think of that. He couldn’t afford to be dropping things all the time. 

-

Everyone in both stands was staring, as well as the competitors on the field which included my brothers, but I didn’t care. I sat prim and straight against all the attention. 

Edmund loved me.

I knew Edmund—he wouldn’t have kissed me the way he did otherwise, not even for the benefit of our ruse. He certainly wouldn’t have been open-mouthed like a fish after I pulled away, nor would he have dropped his sword unceremoniously on the grass to hold me closer. Not King Edmund, the best swordsman in the North.

But Edmund’s confidence came from knowledge. Knowing things gave him the foundation for his effortless conversation and conviction. He stammered when I’d stopped kissing him, and he seemed confused even when he told me not to apologize for kissing him. 

He loved me, and he had no idea. 

Was this the first time it had been noticeable? Or was it only the first time I’d noticed?

Feeling flushed, I drank from my goblet, the delicate flavor blooming on my tongue. He loves me, my heart sang with harmony from my mind and stomach. This time, the voice sounded like my own. He loves me, he loves me, he loves me.

-

The archery was first, and Edmund didn’t bother to watch. If Susan were participating, he would’ve just so he could see the disappointed looks on all the faces of the Archenlandian losers. But Susan had said she had no need of Y/N’s favor, so she remained in the stands. 

An unexpected number of Narnians participated, desperate for a chance to win now that their queen wasn’t competing. 

Once the archery was over and a medal awarded by Y/N to Adonis the centaur, Edmund approached the field, dressed in his armor.

It was a simple bracket. Peter and Edmund started on opposite sides of the bracket, and Edmund defeated opponents with excitement as he thought of crossing swords with his brother at the end of it all. 

But when Edmund had stepped away from the field to drink some water, he returned to see Peter sitting with those who’d already been defeated. He’d lost? To whom?

“Final match,” cawed Swallowpad, the raven on the council. “King Edmund against Gobre from Archenland!”

Gobre?

Edmund didn’t recognize the name, and with no title, he had no clues to puzzle out this man’s identity. 

As if sensing this, Gobre lifted a hand to his helmet and pulled it off to match Edmund’s bare head.

Edmund glanced over at his wife to see what she thought of her fellow countryman, but she was engaged in conversation with his sisters and did not seem to notice his attention. Did she know Gobre well? She didn’t seem to be interacting with the other ladies he recognized from Archenland. There were two sitting near her, yet Y/N was turned all the way away from them. 

As he watched, Lucy said something that made Y/N laugh, and her delighted smile made one spread across his own face. 

“Ready!”  called Swallowpad, perching on a post in the field placed just for him.

Edmund twisted his sword around fluidly as he easily switched hands and switched again. There was a lot he didn’t know and much he wasn’t good at, but this? Edmund had been born to wield a sword.

Gobre assumed a defensive stance, looking very serious, yet Edmund couldn’t miss the slight smile on his competitor’s face.

An eager opponent. 

How fun this was about to be. 

“Go!”

Excitement sparked through Edmund’s veins at the first clang of the swords. Even though this was a fight only in the name of competition, the electric feeling of fighting for his life zinged through him. Not a dissimilar experience to having Y/N’s lips on his…

Distracted, Edmund waited half a moment too long to duck a swing, and the wind of his opponent’s sword whipping through the air made his sweaty hair flap. Another swing, which Edmund met. 

The man put more power behind his sword than Edmund had expected.

He fell back a step, letting their blades separate. What kind of swordsman was this man? He’d never seen anyone fight this way. He studied the man’s face. The man couldn’t have been a noble, his skin was too tan and his armor too old.

The man slashed, interrupting Edmund’s perusal. 

Edmund fought hard, harder than he’d fought all day. Despite himself, he felt a smile on his face. He loved the challenge, and this man was the biggest challenge he’d faced in quite a while.

The man, however, did not smile. With every clang of their blades, his expression tightened even more. Competing against a king was a lot of pressure, and Edmund hoped it didn’t mess with the man’s strategy. As the man bent to avoid Edmund’s sword, he shifted his right shoulder back, and Edmund lifted his sword to meet the strike. 

But the strike did not come from the side. 

A powerful stroke hit his sword right at the handle, and Edmund’s fingers couldn’t hold on through the shock. 

His sword fell to the grass for the second time today, the thud just as resounding. 

The man pointed his blade at Edmund’s neck for just a moment before backing away. “Apologies, Your Majesty.” He held out his hand to help Edmund up.

“Don’t apologize,” Edmund said, accepting the help. “You won. Congratulations.”

The man ducked his head and pulled his hand from Edmund’s. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” 

The crowd was still cheering, so Edmund leaned in. “If you ever want to leave Archenland, it would be a pleasure to have you here.”

The man’s eyes widened, like he’d never anticipated that, before sweeping into a full bow this time. “I’m honored.”

“Now go accept your prize.” Edmund gestured to Y/N, who was already holding the medal awarded to the hand-to-hand combat winner. He stepped back, allowing the man the spotlight. The pride of some men would’ve been wounded by losing to an unknown man, especially if their wives were giving the prize. But Edmund’s pride lay in other things; he really didn’t mind losing, not when it was against a worthy opponent. 

“Who is that?” Edmund asked Peter curiously.

“I think he’s the son of one of the minor Archenlandian lords.” Peter cocked his head. “Lord Bote, perhaps?”

Edmund nearly shuddered. That odious man had cornered him at his wedding feast and talked of nothing other than how beautiful his wife’s attendant was. He now hoped more than ever that this young man would accept his offer to live in Narnia.

The young man in question approached the royal box where Y/N stood with a radiant smile. She was a princess that any country lucky enough to have her should be proud of, though Edmund doubted anyone could be as proud of her as he. 

Reaching down, Y/N placed the medal around his neck before clapping with the rest of the spectators.

“She’s a natural,” Peter said. “Our people love her.”

Edmund grinned. “Narnia is better with her here.”

A little laugh came from Peter, a confusing enough sound that Edmund looked away from his wife and to his brother. “Yeah,” Peter said, “Narnia is much better with your friend here.” 

Not understanding, Edmund raised his eyebrows, but Peter waved him away.

Happy to refocus on his wife, Edmund watched as Y/N went down the stairs of the box like she had done earlier, coming out onto the field to congratulate the tournament winner. The man knelt and kissed the back of her hand. Even from where he stood, Edmund could see the blush on her cheeks from the attention. It made him grin. What was so endearing about seeing her flustered, Edmund couldn’t figure out, but it made him want to try anything just to see her a little nervous. 

Then his mind snagged on something. If the man was Lord Bote’s son, why was his armor not new and well-kept? Especially if he were attending a tournament in another country, he would want to represent his land to the best of his ability.

As Edmund watched, the man’s face grew serious. He leaned in closer to Y/N, his lips moving.

Edmund couldn’t hear what he said, but a searing warning tore through his gut. 

Before he could think, he was running. “Y/N!”

-

The cheers of the crowd faded away as the man leaned in closer to me. “Prince Rabadash sends his congratulations on your nuptials.”

My mind didn’t have time to process his words before I heard my husband shout. “Y/N!”

I tried to step away, but the man’s grip on my hand didn’t loosen as he lifted his sword. A scream fell from my lips as I tried to yank my hand out of his unyielding grip. “What are you doing?” I cried, pulling.

Dimly registering the flash as the sword caught the light of the sun, I pulled back with enough force that I lost my balance, crashing to the grass. 

And then a loud clang sounded as another sword arced to meet the one about to slice me in half. 

The grip on my wrist released, and I scrambled backwards through the grass, staring in horror as Edmund positioned himself in between the man and I in time to dodge the man’s strike.

He’d just been defeated by this man, yet he engaged him once more with no fear! 

“Edmund!” I cried, just as Narnian soldiers rushed from every place in the field.

“Stop this!” Peter roared in the voice of the high king, but the flurry of attacks didn’t slow. I scooted back on my backside until my back hit the wood of the stands, staring in horror at the man now trying to hurt my husband.

“Surrender!” Edmund commanded through gritted teeth. 

The man’s only answer was a violent swing aimed at Edmund’s head. 

“Edmund!” The name welled up from the fear in my gut and broke through my lips.

While the man wound up for another swing, Edmund ducked and kicked the man’s knee. The man lost his balance with a cry, just before Edmund’s sword met his shoulder. The swords might’ve been dulled for the tournament, but Edmund’s strike was powerful enough to draw blood. The man barely had time to clutch the wound before Edmund had disarmed him and the other tournament participants swarmed the man, holding him.

Struggling viciously, it took three fauns and a centaur to restrain him. 

Then, my view was blocked by my husband. “Are you alright?” He threw his sword aside, falling to his knees in front of me and searching for any injuries. “Y/N, answer me!”

“I’m fine.” Accepting his hand, I stood shakily, staring at the man who had headbutted one of the soldiers. “Who is that?”

“I don’t know,” Edmund said with a scowl. 

“Take him to the dungeons!” Peter boomed, and the soldiers started to drag him off. 

“You will never subdue Calormen!” the man shouted. “We are mighty!” 

I clung tighter to Edmund as we watched him go. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Edmund’s hands started roaming my arms, as if checking to make sure they were still completely there.

“I’m fine.” I gave a little laugh, partially to try to ease his fears and partially from hysteria. “I’ll definitely need a drink from your rose water now though.”

Edmund looked confused, opening his mouth to speak when Queen Susan’s voice cut in. “The crowd is terrified.”

I glanced around at the stands to see half the spectators on their feet and all with expressions of horror. I pulled away from Edmund long enough to lift my hand in a wave. Waves of relieved cheers and staggered applause filled the lawn, but it didn’t matter to me.

Not when Edmund was holding me so close. 

He turned to me. “What rose water?”

I blinked. “The rose water you sent me.”

“I didn’t send you any rose water.”

What? It hadn’t come from him? I bit my lip. So…he hadn’t been thinking of me. Lady love hadn’t been an option…aside from the fact that he did love me.

Edmund clutched my arms with an urgency that broke me from my thoughts. “Y/N, did you drink from it?”

“Of course I did,” I said defensively. “It was hot.”

I didn’t understand the look of panic on his face, nor did I understand why he immediately ran for the stands. Seizing the goblet, he came back to me to take my hand. “We’re going back to the castle,” he said under his breath. “And straight to the healers.”

-

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

White Moves First tag list:

-

Edmund was still tense this morning, but I could see his effort to overcome it by bringing breakfast to me and announcing that it was his turn to show me around his home. 

A grumpy Rona helped me dress quickly so I could meet Edmund in the drawing room of our suite. “Edmund,” I said reproachfully as he led me out of our suite and into the hallway. 

In the middle of a yawn, his eyebrows lifted. “What?” 

“Why didn’t you tell me that women don’t wear corsets in Narnia?” I demanded.

Edmund looked as if he weren’t quite sure if he should be scandalized or defensive. “Uhhh…”

“I would’ve come so much sooner just for that alone.” I took a breath, relishing the freedom. “Although…” I frowned. “Now I’m cursed with the knowledge that your sisters’ waists are naturally that tiny. What I wouldn’t give to have waists like theirs.” I stopped for a moment to duck my head into the nearest door to see another suite that looked a lot like ours. 

When I turned around, Edmund was staring at my torso. I waited for his eyes to jerk up to mine, but they remained fixed.  “Umm…Edmund?”

“I don’t understand, your waist is fine.” He tilted his head, still staring. “The whole point of a waist is to connect the two halves of a body. If a waist does that, isn’t it a good waist?”

I tried to withhold my laugh, I truly did, but how could one not laugh at a comment like that? Especially when the speaker looked so adorably confused. “Men,” I said, rolling my eyes before bounding forward to link my arm in Edmund’s. “I want to see everything.” 

Edmund led me through the Great Hall once again, pointing out a dent in the wall from when he and Peter had knocked over a suit of armor that had since been moved six inches to the left to cover said dent. Then he guided me through the kitchens. A tray of iced buns sat on the counter, and Edmund waited until the old cook’s back was turned before swiping a bun. He grinned at me as he tore it in half for us to share, but didn’t seem to notice the way the old cook fondly rolled his eyes as we walked by. After a quick tour through the stables, he brought me out to the gardens. The Archenland gardens, the ones my mother had supervised every step of the way, were manicured, planted neatly and maintained with a vigor. 

My father hadn’t allowed me to change a single thing about them. 

The gardens here were wild. Free. 

Like me now, I supposed.

I listened as Edmund pointed out how a summer lightning storm had charred the bark of a great tree, and yet it still stood. He was glad of it, showing me where he and his siblings had carved their names into one of the massive branches. 

Edmund’s history was all over Cair Paravel, and imagining every iteration of Edmund as he'd grown up made me ache in a pleasant way that I did not understand. 

“We’ve all agreed that you are encouraged to do what you like to the gardens,” Edmund said with a smile. “You have a better eye for it than any of us.”

“Oh, but the orchard has been splendidly kept!” I exclaimed. 

Edmund laughed. “The woodland creatures tend to it, mostly because the pollination helps the bees. But they're far too busy to maintain gardens, and none of us have the knack for it.” 

I looked around at the gardens. Whatever I wanted seemed a very overwhelming thing. 

But how exciting. 

A way to leave my mark as well as contributing some beauty to Edmund’s home…and by extension, giving something to Edmund himself. 

Not that a garden could ever measure up to a life saved, I mused as Edmund guided me back inside. But a garden is something to give at least.

“And this is the council room.” 

I slowed to a stop, preparing for Edmund to finish with a quick goodbye before continuing inside. But he slowed with me, continuing to point out little things about this hall that I would never have noticed on my own. 

Edmund paused long enough to say, “Mr. Tumnus,” in acknowledgement as a faun walked past. I looked at the silver scarf the faun wore with interest, and if I wasn’t mistaken, the faun also had a spark of interest in his eyes when he looked back at me. 

“The meeting will start soon,” Edmund murmured, looking at the room. 

“I understand.” I shot him a smile. “I’ll see you later?”

Edmund’s head twisted to look at me, his eyebrows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Umm…you’ll be in the meeting for a while, yeah? I’m pretty sure I know how to get back to the library, I’ll just find a book to amuse myself.”

Edmund muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like wishing my father had an unfortunate accident. “You’re coming to the meeting.”

“I-I didn’t want to assume–”

“Assume I’d keep my word?”

“Edmund,” I said reproachfully. 

“Y/N,” he replied in almost exactly the same tone. “You’re in Narnia now.”

In Narnia.

He didn’t say that I was a princess or his wife or the wife of a king or or anything else to do with our stations. As if the only thing that needed to change for me to be invited into the meeting was the location.

Edmund didn’t wait for me to find my words. He took me by the hand and gently started leading me inside. “You will never again have to hide behind a tapestry,” he promised in a whisper just for me as he led me inside. 

The councilroom was far less grand than Archenland’s, even less grand than the bedroom Edmund and I now shared. For starters, I couldn’t tell which seats belonged to who; they all looked the same. The council members were conversing with each other in gentle, easy words. No one looked panicked, no one was raising their voices, no one even seemed to be sizing anyone else up. 

Peter and Queen Lucy were already seated beside each other, talking. An empty seat sat on Peter’s other side and two empty seats were on Queen Lucy’s. Edmund seated me in between his sister and himself.

Too overwhelmed to talk to either Edmund or Queen Lucy, I stared wide-eyed at the council: the four Pevensies, an owl, a raven, a centaur, Mr. Tumnus the faun, a beaver, and one other human woman. Without me, they would've been an even ten. I tried not to read into that. 

As Queen Susan settled into her chair, Peter rose to his feet. “I call this meeting to come to order.”

Instantly, everyone finished talking, giving the high king their full attention. “The first order of business is to introduce someone very special.” 

My face grew hot as everyone’s attention turned to me, but they all wore smiles. 

“Everyone, this is Princess Y/N.”

I lifted a hand in an awkward wave before I could decide if that was something a princess should do. 

Peter smiled in such a way that made me feel less ridiculous. “We are very glad to have her here, and we want to make sure that everything is well settled.”

“The first order of business,” Edmund cut in, “is officially adding Y/N as a permanent member of the council.”

I gave him a wide-eyed look, but Peter nodded. “As a princess of Archenland, her insight is greatly valuable.” 

“Formerly of Archenland,” Edmund grumbled, and chuckles ran through the room, some of them sounding distinctly not human. 

“Formerly of Archenland,” Queen Susan repeated, looking just as amused by her brother’s clear claim on me as everyone else did. 

“Any objections?” I did a double take as I realized it was an owl who had spoken. The room was quiet for a moment, everyone wearing smiles or nodding. “Princess Y/N, we welcome you to the council.” The owl’s beak shifted in a way that almost looked like a smile. Could owls smile?

“Forgive me, your majesties,” Mr. Tumnus said in a quivering voice, “but if we’re going to add a fifth throne to the throne room, we should commission it as quickly as possible.”

A throne?

“A crown as well,” Queen Lucy added. “Those take a while to make.”

The centaur beside Queen Susan spoke up in his booming voice. “And we shall have to decide what title to bestow on her.”

“I believe a section of the Western Woods would be appropriate,” said a voice lovelier than I would’ve expected from a beaver. Were those glasses on her nose? 

“Agreed,” Edmund added. 

“Please,” I interrupted, my cheeks flushing as everyone in the chamber turned to me. I didn’t often have this much concentrated attention in my direction. If I did, it was because I’d been announced before entering a ball or if I wore a particularly pretty dress to a public event. But this? They were all looking at me.

I glanced at Edmund quickly, and the sight of his attentive face brought me the courage I needed. “I don’t need a throne. Or a title or lands of my own. All I need is a home.”

There was silence in the room.

“Your highness, you are our princess now.” The beaver gestured at the council. “We want to afford you with every honor appropriate for your role.”

“My role is not to be another person of authority.” My voice sounded so much clearer and steadier than I could ever remember it sounding. “I am a new wife and sister-in-law and citizen of Narnia. Those titles are the highest honor I want. And if I can serve the council in any way, than that is far more than I ever could’ve hoped for.”

The members of the council nodded as I finished. “I think I speak for us all,” croaked the raven, “when I say that we are humbled by your humility, your highness.”

Murmurs of agreement filled the room, and the heat in my face dissipated somewhat. 

“There is one issue.” Mr. Tumnus nervously adjusted his scarf. “When King Edmund and Princess Y/N have children, her highness being titleless might confuse the line of succession.”

My mouth dried up as my cheeks burned anew. 

When. 

Succession. 

I could not bring myself to look at Edmund or anyone else, staring instead at the knot in the wood of the table. 

To my everlasting relief and gratitude, Queen Lucy spoke up from beside me. “My siblings and I have always said we will decide the line of succession as it becomes relevant. Yes, as of now, Edmund and Y/N are the only ones married, but there are four monarchs and much may change in the next few years, I’m sure. It is hardly fair to pressure my brother and new sister by trying to figure out the line of succession now.”

Sister?

I felt emotion welling up in my chest at Queen Lucy’s words, and I breathed around it. I would not cry during my first ever council meeting. A soft and delicate hand reached out to squeeze mine, and I decided right then and there that I would treat her as a sister in return and call her ‘Lucy’. 

“Is that a satisfactory answer, Mr. Tumnus?” Queen Susan asked.

“Quite, your majesty.” Mr. Tumnus shot me a warm smile, clearly trying to ease any doubts that he spoke out of care. As if I could doubt the faun’s sincerity in any way. 

The owl rustled its wings. “But we must celebrate our king’s marriage somehow, if not with the announcing of a new line of succession or of a coronation.”

“I agree,” said the centaur. “We did not get to host the wedding, and the occasion must be marked.”

“What would you suggest?” Peter asked. 

As the council continued to discuss how best to celebrate the union, I listened in awe. The differences between council meetings in Archenland versus Narnia were astounding. Here, wisdom was still wisdom regardless of the station of the speaker. No one spoke over each other. And not only were the two queens in the meeting, but several other females of different kinds as well. 

The only other human woman present was one whose station I could not discern. Her clothes were practical yet well made. Her head was bare, no crown or circlet denoting her as high-ranking, and she had not yet spoken, taking great care to listen to all. At one point, she picked up her quill and thoughtfully twirled it between the fingers of her left hand as the room listened to Lucy, who was expressing such excitement over the idea of a ball that only she could express without seeming inauthentic. The woman’s fingers were scarred from a burn, but they still had much dexterity despite their past injury. It was only upon watching closely that I realized that the quill started turning itself above her fingers. 

My breath caught. 

Magic. 

No one else seemed to notice my reaction, but the woman caught my eye and winked.

Whoever she was, I liked her.

“I suggest a tournament,” the magic woman said, immediately drawing everyone’s eyes. They all seemed to regard her with the utmost respect. “Let the competitors compete for their new princess’s favor.”

“We must invite other territories to come compete,” cawed the raven.

“No.”

Edmund’s harsh tone didn’t sit well with me, not after the peace and camaraderie of the council. Everyone in the room paused, also sensing the shift.

“You know,” Queen Susan said gently, “it’s customary to open our borders for tournaments.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want a single person from Calormen present.”

“Edmund,” Peter said, with some undercurrent I didn’t understand. But from the way the magic woman shifted in her chair, she understood. “Calormen will not be welcome to participate, but Y/N is from Archenland. We should allow her people to join if they wish.”

Edmund’s jaw worked. I debated squeezing his hand to comfort him, but the idea of such a public show of affection felt too daunting in this room. “Very well,” he relented. 

The room was silent for a moment. 

“Oh!” Lucy clapped her hands together as she always did when delighted. “Whoever wins the tournament wins the opportunity to dance with the new princess at the ball!”

Murmurs of support rippled through the room, and though Edmund didn’t seem overly fond of Lucy’s idea, it was soon decided. In a week, a three-day tournament would commence, ending with a ball on the third night. 

After a quick conversation about something to do with a village nearby, the council adjourned. Those with wings hopped straight to the open window, flying out of it. The others filed out of the room, some in a hurry, others dialoguing with each other about many different things as they left. 

“Well?” Edmund asked, holding out his hand to me with a soft smile. “What did you think?”

I allowed him to pull me to my feet. “I think…I’m…in shock.”

“Don’t worry.” Edmund led me out of the council room and back down the hallway. “You’ll get used to all of it quicker than you think.”

“Where are we going?” I asked as he led me in a different direction from the others. 

“I thought we’d take a detour before lunch,” he said mysteriously, swinging our clasped hands between us like we were children.

He led me back to our private drawing room, where a little table had been set by the window. And on it were two chessboards. One my own, on which a velvet bag holding all my pieces lay. The other—fully set up—I had never seen before.

“I’m sorry,” I said as Edmund pulled out my chair for me, “your chess set is gold?”

“Solid gold.” He had the good graces to look embarrassed. “It was a gift.”

“Oh, well, then it’s not ostentatious at all,” I said sarcastically as I sat. “It’s perfectly normal. In fact, now that you mention it, you ought to have diamonds encrusted in the pieces.”

Edmund chuckled as he sat opposite me. “Honestly, I prefer your set.” He picked up the velvet bag and started pulling pieces out and setting them upright on the table.

I ran my finger over my wooden chessboard, savoring the dips and ridges of dents and scratches, all from a long life of being used. Then, almost automatically, I flipped the chessboard over to look at the engraving on the back. 

To my daughter on her thirteenth birthday. So we can play until the pieces wear down. 

I pursed my lips, too confused to untangle the feelings that erupted upon reading the words. 

“I didn't know your father gave you your chessboard,” Edmund said.

I nodded, not looking away from it. “He's the one who taught me to play.”

“But you've always said that I'm the only person who will play with you."

I looked up at Edmund to see that he’d paused in pulling out the pieces, like he’d gotten so distracted that he’d forgotten what he was doing completely. “The first time I beat him…he refused to yield his king. We played through to the end, all the way up to checkmate.” I let out a shaky chuckle. “It was the last time we ever played.” 

A frown formed on Edmund’s face. “A good king knows how to lose graciously.”

I didn’t reply to that. I had no reply. Who was I to know what would make a good king? 

I flipped the board over, allowing Edmund to finish setting the pieces up, noting that he automatically set the white pieces up on my side. When he finished, he smiled at me, looking almost…tentative. “White moves first.”

I leaned towards the board, pushing the king’s pawn forward two spaces. 

Like always, it didn’t take long for Edmund to get wholly absorbed, staring down at the board, sometimes tilting his head as if a new angle would somehow change the position of my knight or rook.

But as Edmund studied the board, I studied him. 

I’d only ever seen him in Archenland, where he’d been a guest. Sometimes, when Edmund spoke in public with my father or my brothers or in a council meeting, he seemed so mature and so much older than me. I thought the tension of his posture and guarded nature followed Edmund everywhere. But now that he was home, his face didn’t hold so much seriousness. And he even slouched forward in his chair to prop up his chin on the heel of his hand. Here, he was different. 

Here, he was even handsomer than he’d been in Archenland. 

Did I look different to him now? 

A good different, where I seemed more beautiful? 

I hoped so. 

Edmund grinned at me. “Your move.”

I moved my queen over, distractedly. Edmund’s hands dwarfed the chess pieces, yet he moved them dexterously, never accidentally knocking pieces over the way my father sometimes had. Sometimes he moved the pieces with his right hand, the silver of his signet ring catching the light. When he used his left, it was his wedding ring that flashed. 

Edmund pushed his rook forward. “Check.”

I shifted my rook too, fiddling with Edmund’s old signet ring that was still on my index finger. Did his jawline always look so pronounced or was it the lighting? 

“Check.”

Staring at the pieces, I tried to focus on the game, but my thoughts lingered in the space between Edmund's eyebrows. What was wrong with me? With a shake of my head, I retreated my only remaining bishop. 

“Checkmate.” 

I blinked down at the board, suddenly seeing the trap that I’d blundered into. Edmund got up from his chair. “Distracted today, are we?”

“No,” I retorted, accepting his offered hand and following him as he led me out of the drawing room. 

Edmund just grinned. “My opinion still stands: it’s better to play black.”

“It is not,” I insisted. “You only got to play the King’s Defense because I expanded on the queenside.” I stepped closer to Edmund to allow a servant through with her basket. 

“Exactly my point.” Edmund opened the royal dining room door, allowing me through. “Playing black means you get to improvise. There’s power in response.”

“Talking about chess?” Lucy asked, already seated at the table. We nodded as we joined her. 

“Do you play?” I asked. 

“Not hardly,” she replied. “The only thing I know about chess is that it’s better to play black.”

“It is not!” I burst out as Edmund grinned.

“Don’t blame her for being correct,” he said as Peter and Queen Susan entered, also in the middle of a conversation that I could not yet hear. “She knows that there is honor in waiting for your opponent to reveal themselves.”

“Honor?” I repeated. “You think playing black is more honorable?”

“Of course. Playing white is bold, but playing black is wise.”

I rolled my eyes. “Statistically, white wins more often. That’s a proven fact.”

“Sure,” Edmund replied. “But when you win with black, the victory is that much sweeter.”

I was conjuring my reply when I noticed the dining room was quiet. Glancing at Edmund’s siblings, I saw them all smiling widely. 

“Truly meant to be,” Lucy sighed.

Heat flared in my cheeks, and I looked down at my plate. 

-

After lunch, Peter and Edmund excused themselves to start organizing the details of the tournament with the royal guard and the household mistress. They invited me to go along with them, but I declined. I didn’t know much about tournaments and didn’t have much interest in organizing one. 

Once the door had shut behind them, Lucy propped up her chin on her hands. “Y/N?”

I took another sip of water. “Hmm?” 

“Sue and I were talking, and I realized…I never got to hear the story of how you and Edmund decided to get married.”

Oh no. 

“Yes, it happened so quickly,” Queen Susan said. “Edmund didn’t tell me anything, even when I pried!”

I hadn’t anticipated this. Edmund and I hadn’t talked about it. Peter was the only one in this whole land who knew the truth about how Edmund had married me to save me from Rabadash, and I couldn’t tell Edmund’s sisters without checking with him first. 

And now Lucy was looking at me with her sweet face and Queen Susan with hers expectant and no-nonsense, and my brain shut down.

“Uhhh…” I resisted the urge to rub my neck. Whatever I said would be the story that Edmund and I had to tell for the rest of our lives. The best lie was always true. 

“Well…I was in my drawing room—we often played chess together in my drawing room and, well, he comes to Archenland—excuse me, came to Archenland—so infrequently that we really wanted to play as much as we could.” I nervously smoothed my dress down without realizing it and then hoped they saw it as bashful instead of disingenuous. “He came and then he just…said it, it wasn’t really a question, I mean it wasn’t like he demanded it or anything, but he said it so flatly that I didn’t really realize what he was saying and then I was a bit nervous so he calmed me down and then I said I would marry him and he left.” Having run out of air, I sucked in a breath. “To go ask my father. For permission.” 

The more I spoke, the more disappointed Lucy looked. I’d never had a sister before, and I so desperately didn’t want to let down my new one. 

“We should’ve known better,” Queen Susan said, looking apologetic. “Edmund’s never been a romantic sort.”

At her words, I could barely decipher if the heat of my face was from embarrassment or anger. “Edmund’s perfectly romantic!” I protested, thinking of the dying blue flower I’d taken great care to place in my trunk. 

Queen Susan wrinkled her nose. “Edmund? Romantic? He hasn’t even given you a real ring.”

“I don’t know,” Lucy said before I could argue. “Did I ever tell you about the first time I realized Edmund was in love with Y/N?”

The question was not aimed at me, but I doubted Queen Susan could feel even a fraction of the amount of curiosity I did after hearing that. Did she mean…feelings before our engagement? “You didn’t tell me.” My words were far too rushed for elegance, but Lucy didn’t seem to notice. 

“It was when Edmund and I visited for the boar hunt, do you remember?”

“I do.” My father had invited both my brothers and Lucy to join the hunt with him and Edmund, leaving me behind at the castle. Edmund and I had barely gotten to spend any time together that visit. “But that was a whole year ago.”

“Well, Edmund’s normally a very good hunter, you see, but that day, he was melancholy.” Lucy sent a look in her sister’s direction that I couldn’t decipher. “Kept trying to find excuses to return to the castle.”

My heart flared suddenly in my chest, like a great bird suddenly spreading its wings. 

“Well, you know how moody Ed gets,” Queen Susan said, swirling her goblet around. 

“Yes,” Lucy said thoughtfully. “Anyhow, after the hunt, Edmund only stopped long enough to take off his muddy boots before heading straight for the library.”

I instantly knew what she was talking about. “Oh, Edmund brought me a novel as a gift that trip. I’d told him I’d be in the library reading it while he was gone.” It’d been a sentimental story, full of magic and adventure and duels and true love and all the things I loved in stories and Edmund despised. He believed those things were only worth experiencing in real life. He didn’t realize how much I envied his privilege of getting to experience them off of a page. 

Lucy smiled with such vigor, I knew she relished the sharing of this memory. She had no way of knowing that I relished hearing it even more. “I followed him because I wanted to ask if we needed to send any communication to Cair Paravel before dark.”

I racked my memory for what she might’ve seen that accounted for the slightly devilish sparkle in her eye. 

“Go on,” Queen Susan said eagerly. “Stop drawing it out.”

“Well, Y/N was wholly absorbed by her book, all curled up in the window seat. And Edmund just stood by the bookshelves, watching her read.”

He did?

I tried to remember if I’d ever seen Edmund looking at me, but…truthfully, I only remembered being distraught when he’d interrupted me because the dragon in the story had stolen a little girl from a nearby village, and I was terrified for the girl. 

Lucy’s smile and sparkle dimmed into a thoughtful expression. “I’d never seen Edmund look like that before. Just…smiling at her like she was all he could bring himself to care about.”

Queen Susan gave a short laugh. “That’s how he always looks at her.”

A lump formed in my throat. His siblings knew him better than anyone; it was far more likely for them to be accurate than inaccurate. 

Lucy’s smile grew sly again. “Edmund finally stepped forward and asked her if she liked the book, and she said–”

“The heroine gets carried everywhere,” I remembered with something like horror as I finally remembered what happened next. “She kept passing out or hurting her ankle or growing weak in the knees from hunger, and the hero kept pulling her into his arms to carry her.”

Lucy was practically glowing with the thrall of her story. “You went on and on about how unrealistic it was and how men couldn’t really carry women around like that all the time. Edmund kept trying to interrupt, but you wouldn’t let him.” She looked at Queen Susan. “Until Edmund just stood up from his chair, scooped her up and started walking around with her in his arms!”

Queen Susan let out a squeal, and my hands flew to my cheeks, half in horror and half in glee. 

“Oh, the screeching Y/N did, Susan!” Lucy said, raising her voice over her sister’s squeals and my protests. “She kept trying to worm out of his grip, telling him that she was too heavy and he shouldn’t tire himself out and he’d proven his point and enough was enough!”

And Edmund had only laughed, not satisfied that the point was proven until he’d carried me a full lap around the library. I couldn’t believe we’d been so preoccupied with each other that we hadn’t noticed Lucy watching us. 

“That was when I figured Cair Paravel didn’t need to hear anything from us that evening,” Lucy finished. “And when Y/N and Edmund both came down to dinner, they couldn’t stop giggling the whole meal.”

“Well!” Queen Susan exclaimed. “I guess I stand corrected!”

“That you do.” Oh, Lucy looked so very triumphant as she stood from the table. “And I deserve iced buns for knowing more than you!”

Queen Susan and Lucy led me down the same staircase to the kitchens that I’d gone down earlier with Edmund. They talked about something, but I couldn’t focus. My head whirled as the same breathlessness I’d felt in the orchard came over me. With how Lucy told her story, Edmund’s fondness for me seemed so very obvious, even when my own memories didn’t reflect such tenderness. Was Lucy adding things to the story because Edmund and I had wed? Or were my own memories so desperately flawed that I missed something so tremendous as any special tenderness Edmund felt for me? 

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I hung back as the sisters burst into the kitchen. 

Was it possible that I could be so distracted by how special Edmund made me feel that I missed the depths of his effort to do so?

He was the only person, man or woman, who played chess with me now. He was the only person who’d ever brought me a book, other than my governesses, but they wanted me to learn while Edmund wanted me to enjoy and knew what I would enjoy. He was the reason I’d officially attended a council meeting. He protected me over and over, listened to me endlessly, and never seemed to tire of my company.

My own family had never done those things, and not that long ago, I would’ve said that they loved me. 

If Edmund did all these things…was it possible…that he did them because he loved me?

In all my years, I’d never even dared to hope for such a thing. But now I did hope for it. I hoped so hard, it hurt. 

-

Edmund jogged through the Great Hall. Perhaps it was undignified, but his meeting was over, and he wanted to play another game with Y/N. She’d been so distracted earlier, his win hadn’t felt fair. 

He heard female voices and slowed down, thinking one would be Y/N’s, but it was his sisters that he came face to face with, both licking their fingers and smiling. “What’s got you two in such a good mood?” he asked warily. 

“No reason," Susan said at the exact same time Lucy said, “Y/N.”

“What’d she do?” 

His sisters exchanged looks. “Fell in love with you,” Lucy said. 

Edmund rolled his eyes and brushed past them. Why did sisters always have to be full of such romantic notions?

-

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@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

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But the room was empty. It was also darker than she anticipated; rather than remove the curtain covering the porthole, she felt inside the first drawer of the desk until she found matches for the candle. Some of the wax was still soft, as if the candle had been lit not long ago. Elaina examined the unexpectedly clear desk and noticed bits of charred paper that were still smoldering. The captain, wherever and whoever he was, likely heard the shouts from his crew and burned his most crucial piece of information before locking the cabin. 

Smart. Elaina wasn’t surprised. Any captain of a ship as crucial to the Royal Navy as the White Whale wouldn’t have ended up in his position by chance. 

Crossing silently to the iron-bound chest in the corner, Elaina crouched with her tools once again. 

The lid lifted with creaks and groans, revealing….clothes?

Elaina tilted her head at the fine brown jacket and creamy shirts. Why would the captain lock up a chest if all it held was a pile of garments? She started to rummage. 

Ah. Tucked into the brown jacket was a stack of papers. Clever captain. Elaina shifted through the papers. She read both letters of communication and reports of naval positions, but they were few compared to the pages and pages of notes featuring one name.

The Shadow. 

The name filled Elaina with dread. Why would a ship of the Royal Navy be concerned about the Shadow? The king had never believed the Shadow was real. Was the royal flag of this ship and the uniforms of the sailors a disguise? Was this ship masquerading as one thing to hide who they truly worked for?

Shoving the papers aside, Elaina heard something shift at the bottom of the chest. Another box, but with no lock. 

A box she recognized.

It couldn’t be.

With unsteady hands, she opened the clasp and lifted the lid. 

She froze, staring down at the treasure she’d revealed, her mind filled with questions. How did these sailors find them? How long had they had them? And did they know that they were magic? 

A floorboard behind her creaked.

Elaina gripped her hilt once again, still staring down at the beautiful, blue slippers. “Where did you get these?” Her voice was low. She listened for another creak, but it didn’t come.

Some pirates were in this life for the profit. Some for the thrill. The smaller portion to which Elaina belonged did this because they had no choice, and no one was more dangerous than those with their backs against the wall. Clever this captain may be, but he had no idea who he was dealing with. 

Another creak, and Elaina rose to her feet, twisting to slam her blade against the one about to arc down on her head. She swiped with her foot, trying to trip the attacker, but he dodged, whirling back into the shadows. 

The light of the candle did not give her much to go on. She could only see that the attacker was tall, likely too tall to be a woman. 

That was all she had time to notice before the man’s sword came rushing towards her face.

They exchanged blow after blow, and Elaina could feel the man’s strength behind every one. She ducked around the desk, trying to keep distance between them, but with one hand, the attacker sent the desk sliding towards the wall of the cabin.

She barely had time to raise her sword before his met it with such force, it sent her backwards. 

Her back slammed against the wall, both her hands stabilizing the sword to hold it against the blade bearing down on her throat.

In a few moments, she’d be overcome and this man would gut her like a fish. 

But pirates didn’t have to fight fair, and quarter did not apply to someone trying to kill her.

So Elaina kicked the man’s knee as hard as she could. 

He let out a grunt and stumbled backwards. With a great leap, Elaina moved forward, the point of her sword aiming for his chest.

The attacker’s free hand pulled at the curtain over the porthole, and Elaina let out a cry as the sudden sunlight blinded her, holding her sword in a defensive position outward of her chest to block any blow that she could no longer see. 

But no blow came.

Instead, the sound of a soft gasp reached her ears. 

Blinking forcefully, Elaina let her eyes adjust…and looked right up into the face of Prince Nicholas. 

Elaina reeled backwards. Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest as she frantically searched his features for some sign that it was just a stranger with a strong resemblance and not actually the prince. But it was unmistakably him, even if the lines of his face had sharpened to leave nothing left of boy in him. 

They stared at each other, swords up, neither making a move.

In the moments that Elaina’s chest heaved with every breath and she stared dumbfoundedly at the prince, she realized. 

This is why the stars sent her here. 

She should have known. The stars never aided her in her buccaneer endeavors before yesterday. She’d hoped that in their almost year of silence, they’d finally come around to respect the choice she had been forced to make. 

But no. They sought to reunite her with her obsolete destiny. 

Elaina wanted to dart for the chest to grab the shoes—her shoes—and rejoin Lewis, but the prince stood between her and it. If she wanted them, she was going to have to beat him.

“You’re…” Nicholas’s eyes flicked all over her body, clearly trying to process what he was seeing. On the Broken Minnow, Elaina had overheard the men calling her beauty dangerous, and she liked the sound of that. Nicholas might’ve grown up, but she had too, and Nicholas had good reason to fear her.

“…you’re wearing pants,” Nicholas finished, sounding stunned. 

Elaina’s grip tightened on her sword, and she debated swinging it at him. 

Nicholas’s shock retreated to confusion. “H-how are you…here? I don’t understand, why are you with the pirates?” His shoulders stiffened. “Are they forcing you to stay with them?”

She stared at him, fighting the almost wild urge to laugh at his concern. It was far, far too late for him to be worried about her wellbeing now. 

“If they are, we can beat them.” Nicholas’s features distorted with anger. “You’ll never have to fear them again.”

Elaina let loose her laugh. “Nice to know your arrogance hasn’t changed.” She could see the moment he realized it.

"You're with the pirate crew?"

"No," she replied. "They're with me."

A gunshot sounded above, making both of them jump as someone on the deck screamed in pain.

“What are you doing to my crew?” Nicholas asked, his voice uneven.

“The Broken Minnow has no love for the royal navy.” Elaina held his gaze. “The only way to save lives is to beat us or surrender.”

She’d mostly meant it as a taunt, but Nicholas did not resume the fight she was now itching to have. He simply studied her. “Would you honor the terms of a nautical surrender? No more loss of life?”

“That,” said a voice from behind Elaina, “is something you’d negotiate with the captain.”

Never had Elaina been more relieved to hear a voice. “Captain Lewis,” she said, backing up, “meet Prince Nicholas of Ashland.”

“Your highness,” Lewis acknowledged, a stickler for polite discourse even when he was a pirate. “What are your terms of surrender?”

“My men are unharmed.” 

Elaina waited for the rest of the demands, like Nicholas’s own safe passage, but they never came. 

Lewis gave a short nod. He hated unnecessary loss of life anyways, so it wasn’t much of an ask, but the prince didn’t need to know that. “In return,” the pirate captain said, “we take you and whatever valuables you have.”

Elaina glanced at the chest where her slippers still sat. They were precious to her, but they and whatever else was in the White Whale’s hold would mean nothing compared to the ransom they could get from Ashland to return their prince alive.

Did Nicholas realize this as his gaze bounced between Lewis and Elaina, sizing them up? She couldn’t tell what conclusion he’d landed on when he finally clenched his teeth. “Very well.”

-

Having stowed her slippers in her own cabin, Elaina stood stiffly beside Lewis in the captain's cabin of the Broken Minnow as two members of the crew guided Nicholas to a chair in the center of the cabin and tied him to it. Surprisingly, the prince didn’t struggle. He simply gazed unflinchingly at Elaina, his expression unreadable. 

It took everything in her to hold his gaze, especially when it made her chest tighten and her stomach flip-flop. Here he was, the man that allowed her to be falsely accused of treason and locked up. The man whose ship she’d just conquered after declaring her allegiance to pirates. Why wasn’t he looking at her like an enemy? And why couldn't she quite hate him the way she had every right to?

“Thank you,” Lewis told the crew members, clearly dismissing them. They shot curious looks at Nicholas, but filed out, closing the door behind them. 

Elaina broke her stare with Nicholas to look at Lewis.

Lewis almost imperceptibly raised his left eyebrow. Elaina let her head fall an inch, and Lewis immediately turned to Nicholas, sitting in a chair across from him and leaning forward. “Are you comfortable, Your Highness?”

Nicholas shifted in his chair, the only thing he could do with his tight bonds. “I would prefer not to be tied up.”

Lewis chuckled. Warmly, but not quite the same sound Elaina had known Lewis to make since she was a child. “We have to keep you from getting into trouble, you understand.”

“There’s a lot I don’t understand,” Nicholas said softly, glancing at Elaina once more. 

“Likewise.” Lewis rested his elbows on his knees. “Perhaps a conversation can clear the confusion.” 

Nicholas didn’t seem to care that Lewis’s tone didn’t imply he had any choice. He was still staring at Elaina. It took everything in Elaina not to shift her weight between her feet. She needed to show him her conviction. He would not make her question anything, and she would not reveal anything less than complete composure. 

“Why is the Crown Prince of Ashland and the head of the Royal Navy in these waters?” Lewis asked.

“How did you get out of the dungeons?” Nicholas asked, his persistent eyes boring into Elaina. 

“We’re asking the questions,” Lewis said easily. “Why are you in these waters?"

Nicholas didn’t even blink. “How long have you been with the pirates?”

“You do realize you are at our mercy?” Lewis’s eyebrows were raised. “Your life could depend on how much you cooperate.”

“No.” The word slipped out of Elaina’s mouth before she could think about it, and both men looked at her with surprise. “We can’t afford to hurt a prince,” Elaina said lamely. 

Lewis shot her a look, and she cringed. Stupid. She’d just undercut their position by admitting any sort of fear of retaliation. 

“Unless we’ve decided whether or not we’re throwing him overboard, let’s not leave any bruises,” she added, trying to sound menacing. 

Neither Nicholas or Lewis looked convinced by her threat. Stupid stars. The next time they spoke, she’d tell them exactly where they could stuff it. 

“I’ll make you a deal,” Nicholas said suddenly.

“You aren’t in any position–” Lewis started.

“Answers for answers.” The prince tilted his head, about the only movement he could manage with his bonds. “I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine. A polite discourse where acquaintances share information.”

“We’re not selling pirate secrets!” Elaina said angrily. 

“I don’t want pirate secrets.” The side of Nicholas’s mouth quirked up, a vivid recall to the flirtatious prince Elaina remembered him to be. “I want to know about you.”

“Done.”

“Lewis!” Elaina snapped.

The captain grabbed her elbow and pulled her out of the cabin, shutting the door so that Nicholas couldn’t hear their conversation. “We need to know what's going on,” Lewis whispered. “Something big is brewing, but we can’t protect our crew from it if we don’t know what is happening.”

“No one gets to decide for me,” Elaina growled. “Not even you, Lewis.”

Lewis’s posture did not shift. “This is what it means to be first mate. It means everyone on board is your responsibility.”

“At my own expense?” Elaina snapped back, loudly enough that Nicholas likely heard her. 

“Do you think I never made any sacrifices to keep you safe when you grew up on the ship where I was first mate?” 

The weight of his words knocked the wind from Elaina's lungs. “No, Lewis, I know you did.”

“And do you think this crew hasn’t done a single thing for your safety and wellbeing?”

“Of course they have, but–”

Lewis held up a hand with an expression that showed just how little he wanted to hear her explanation. “It is your decision, Elaina. But no woman or man is an island. Deciding for yourself is not the same as looking out only for yourself.” 

Elaina gaped at her captain. Was he calling her selfish? He’d never spoken to her like this, never during her younger years while he was the first mate on her father’s ship, and never since she’d joined his crew. 

Finally, Lewis seemed to soften. “I’m assuming the prince has something to do with why you sought me out to join my crew a year ago?”

Unable to stomach the sympathy in his face, Elaina averted her eyes. She refused to tell him anything when she joined his crew, and Lewis never indicated any curiosity about it. 

Lewis sighed like her silence was a full confession. “The stars led us to him for a reason, and you and I both know better than to argue with them.” How Lewis could hold such reverence for the stars and the Maker whom they spoke with, Elaina didn’t know. After all she’d been through, she couldn’t hold the same reverence, and she was the one who actually got to speak with them.

Lewis walked back into the cabin, leaving the door open. 

Her decision. 

Was she going to be the first mate he’d appointed her to be?

All her life, Elaina had looked up to Lewis. Any time her father’s ship stopped in a port, Lewis always had old friends to share a drink with and young sailors that watched him with awe. He earned loyalty easier than anyone she’d ever known simply because of his integrity, and he was even greater in person than his tremendous reputation. Young Elaina had always hoped that if she stayed true to her character, she would end up like Lewis, with bonds stronger than any tide.

Instead, it had earned her a cell in the Ashland palace dungeons and an eventual place on a pirate crew.

She let out a long breath.

Lewis was right. 

No man or woman is an island. 

The Broken Minnow was Elaina’s island, her home and stronghold for the last year when everything else had been taken from her. And if the danger was real, she would defend her island. 

Gritting her teeth, she walked inside. Lewis had taken her spot against the cabin wall, so Elaina dropped into the chair across from Nicholas. Immediately, she regretted the decision. Nicholas’s tall torso, even bound to a chair, was much higher than hers, but she couldn’t stand back up now and risk looking indecisive or uncomfortable. “You have a deal.” She folded her arms and leaned as far back against the chair as she could. As far away from Nicholas as she could. “Why is the White Whale in these waters?”

“I was trying to find the Shadow.”

The Shadow. Of course. Nicholas had been consumed with the Shadow for a long time. “You’re still hunting him?”

“I think he’s stoking civil war, and I actually prefer my country intact.” The side of Nicholas’s mouth quirked, and a stab of pain shot through Elaina’s chest.

That smile.

It’d sent her heart in a flurry once. 

Elaina took a deep breath. “What have you learnt?”

“That’s your third question.”

Fear pricked Elaina’s mind. No. She wanted to look up at Lewis for reassurance, but she couldn’t let Nicholas know he’d gotten to her. Since she was a little girl, Elaina was the observer, standing in the corner of her father’s dealings and then of Lewis’s. Now she was in the hot seat, and she had the sweat to prove it. 

Nicholas’s eyes were intent, and she wished he would look away so she could again feel like she could breathe. “How did you get out of the dungeon?” 

Elaina’s skin prickled. She still dreamt about the rats that had crawled over her when she’d curled up on that cold, stone floor to cry herself to sleep. “Your mother let me out.”

Nicholas’s face went slack. “What?”

“Your mother let me out. Gave me enough money for passage on a ship out of Ashland.” Elaina tilted her head. “Looks like she knew better than I did that you weren’t going to set me free.” 

Nicholas scowled, clearly resenting the statement. What right did he have to resent it? He was the one who left her to waste away under an undeserved life sentence. 

Assuming that the king would’ve decided against executing her. 

“How did you come to be on this ship?”

“Lewis,” Elaina nodded her head towards the corner, “was my father’s first mate.”

Something shuffled behind her. “Elaina got out of Ashland on the first ship she could. Then, she started asking about members of her father’s old crew. Eventually, word reached me that a young woman was asking about the late Admiral, so I sought her out.”

Elaina finally looked up to shoot Lewis a glare. He remained, as ever, unbothered. “How did your hunt for the Shadow bring you here?"

Of course, Elaina thought sourly. Lewis gets to ask questions without having to answer any about himself. 

Nicholas shifted, and Elaina tried to enjoy his discomfort. Funny, it didn’t work. “I received information that the Shadow makes his home across the sea. I was hoping that going to his home turf would lure him out so I could learn more, but he didn't take the bait." Nicholas's mouth remained opened as if about to go on, then shook his head to himself. “Were you taken care of? In the dungeons?”

“Your soldiers thought me a traitor,” Elaina replied, her tone unforgiving once more. “I’ll let you do the math.”

Nicholas’s face tightened. However little he’d defended her a year ago, it was clear he’d been thinking about her since then and perhaps even felt guilty. 

He deserved to. 

“You said the Shadow didn't take the bait,” Lewis said softly, drawing Elaina out of her thoughts. “Why did you leave? Where are you going?”

“The palace.” Nicholas looked back to Elaina. “Are you right-handed?”

Elaina was so preoccupied with the fact that he had only answered one of Lewis's two questions, she was sure she'd misheard the prince. “Excuse me?”

“You always used to write with your right hand, but you fight with your sword in your left.”

Why did it matter?

“Lewis taught me and he’s left-handed. It was easier for him to teach me if I also fought left-handed.” 

The sound of a boot scraping against wood sounded, and Elaina smirked. Yeah, see how Lewis likes it. 

“What was on the document that you burned?” Elaina asked. Nicholas’s face paled. She leaned forward now, looking at him as directly as she could bear. 

Nicholas shook his head, eyes pleading. “Ask me something else.” 

Really, as if that wouldn’t only make them more curious. 

"Something on that document made you leave before you had found the Shadow." Elaina leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees in a distinctly masculine gesture like Lewis had done. Whatever the answer was, it could’ve been the reason the stars sent her here, and if she had to offer up a large truth, one she knew he wanted to hear, maybe she could learn what tricks the stars were playing. “What was on that document?"

Nicholas shook his head. 

It was a big truth he was hiding.

Only an equally big truth could make him share. 

For my island, Elaina reminded herself as she rallied all her confidence, squared her shoulders, and let loose the truth that the prince didn't even know to ask for. “I would’ve said yes.” 

Nicholas’s mouth snapped shut, confusion growing in his face. 

Elaina could see the exact moment when he realized what she meant. His eyes went wide and his mouth fell open, as if his surprise were too big to contain. “How–“ Nicholas interrupted himself, shutting his eyes. “My mother told you.” 

“She didn’t have to. In the chapel, before your sister’s wedding, you gave me your coat. I put my hands in the pocket and found the ring.” Elaina leaned back, crossing her arms. “Considering what you said when you taught me to dance, it wasn’t hard to figure out who it was intended for.” 

“You would’ve…said yes?” She knew Nicholas had heard her. Was he trying to inflate his ego? She desperately wanted to believe that, except for the way he was looking at her. 

It was too much like how he’d looked at her then. 

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t somehow tripped and accidentally kissed a princess.” The comment was nasty, but Elaina had learned this last year to cover her new vulnerabilities with hostility. “Why were you going home?” 

“She kissed me,” Nicholas said stiffly.

“I don’t care. It’s your turn to answer.”

Nicholas’s jaw rippled as he clenched his teeth. “The king is dying.” 

Elaina shot up to her feet as Lewis came forward. Both pirates stared at the prince. “What?” Lewis croaked the word, and Elaina was reminded that Lewis served the king for years.

Nicholas’s face had grown stony and betrayed no pain. “I received word that my father is sick and likely won’t last the week. I was headed home to say my final goodbyes.”

“And be crowned king,” Elaina breathed. 

“Everyone knows that the Broken Minnow hates the king.” Nicholas was looking at Lewis now. “Let me return safely with my men…and you won’t have to worry about my father anymore.”

Was this why he’d surrendered earlier? Because he thought he’d be able to go his merry way once he’d manipulated Elaina into sharing the truth?

Nicholas looked to her. “Please.” He was not begging or sniveling, but there was an air of patheticness around him just the same. 

For a split second, all Elaina could see was a son about to lose his father. And if the Broken Minnow detained him too long, he’d miss his only chance to say goodbye. 

But then her heart hardened.

The king hadn’t let her defend herself against the bogus claims of treason, and the prince in front of her hadn’t done anything about it. She hadn’t gotten to say goodbye to either of her parents before she’d lost them or to her secondary family before she’d been thrown in prison. 

Why should the royal family get the goodbye they’d kept from her?

Nicholas was looking at her, and the pain on his face made her wonder how much of her thoughts he had guessed. “It’s up to Lewis,” she said abruptly, standing from her seat. “I’m done here.”

And she walked out of the cabin, closing the door curtly behind her. 

-

Elaina stood in the crow’s nest. It was common for a first mate to be on the night watch, which meant no sailor questioned Elaina spending her nights up in the crow’s nest, waiting for the stars to speak to her. Elaina had requested Lewis not put her on the night watch tonight, but he’d denied her request. And she couldn’t disobey her captain. 

Lewis had made a deal with Nicholas. The next morning, the White Whale would resume its course back to Ashland missing some precious cargo. Elaina knew Lewis's service in the royal navy made him more sympathetic to the prince's predicament, but she didn't care. She had her slippers back, and she would hopefully never see the prince again. 

She stood stiffly, staring out at the waters, keeping her eyes peeled for enemy ships. But as the whirling of her mind weighed her heart heavier and heavier, she finally glanced up at the stars. 

It was an especially clear night, so she could see even more of them than usual. Anyone ordinary would be looking upwards with awe or with intention as they charted a course. Elaina stared up at them now with betrayal and pain. 

“How could you trick me?” The slight, disbelieving shake of her head was enough to loose the tears in her eyes. “I don't understand what you want from me!” 

But the stars did not reply, ever the cruel and distant observers of her anguish. 

Elaina swiped angrily at her wet cheeks and took several deep breaths, reining in her emotions with each one. She was Elaina, first mate of the Broken Minnow. She had survived much and would continue to do so. No one could rattle her, no one would–

“Beautiful night.” 

Elaina nearly yelped, hand drawing her sword before she realized whose voice had interrupted her seclusion. “What are you doing?” She held her hand over her slamming heart as she glared at Nicholas. “You shouldn't be up here.” 

“Lewis let me out to relieve myself and stretch my legs. He said something about how it’d be better to do it at night when the crew’s asleep.”

Elaina scowled. That wouldn’t be suspicious at all…if Lewis hadn’t insisted she take the night watch. “I hope you're not thinking of relieving yourself up here, Jack just scrubbed the deck yesterday.” 

Nicholas finished pulling himself up into the crow's nest, and Elaina slipped her sword back in her scabbard, pressing herself against the railing as far as she could so she wouldn't accidentally brush up against the prince. 

“I wouldn’t want to undo all of Jack’s hard work.” Nicholas leaned casually against the railing, looking perfectly at ease. “So what are the stars saying?”

A flare of pain shot through Elaina’s chest, and she covered it up with a frown. “That privacy is underrated.”

Nicholas managed a little chuckle, but did not leave.

Why was he up here? What good did he think it would do?

She folded her arms, wanting to stew in silence until he left. But she just could not resist. “So. I’ve heard a lot of rumors over the last year.” Most of them good, though he did not need to know that.

Unfortunately, Nicholas smiled like he knew. “You were listening for them?”

She knew what he was fishing for, what feelings he’d tried to trick her into confessing a year ago. She may have been close back then, but Nicholas had already learned too much today. Those particular feelings would not see sunlight and definitely not starlight. 

“Apparently, you stood up to your father and demanded you be allowed to lead the navy.” She leaned carelessly against the railing, like she did not care at all about the words she was saying. “You’re regarded as some prodigy.”

Nicholas frowned like the praise actually bothered him. “Only because of all you taught me about sailing.”

Her heart squeezed painfully as she remembered all of their lessons. He’d been eager to learn. 

Well.

Eager about a lot of things.

“I was listening for news of you too,” Nicholas added when she did not answer. “I heard a lot of talk about the girl who spoke to the stars, mostly from the Shadow’s people that tried to locate you.”

Elaina’s heart flipped at the idea of being in the Shadow's clutches, but she hid her fear from the prince. “I am not the girl who speaks to the stars anymore.” 

Nicholas sighed. “Ignoring them isn't–”

“Ignoring them?!” Elaina practically screeched. “I am not ignoring them!”

Nicholas did not shrink from her sudden volume. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

But it was too much. Being near him, seeing his face, hearing his voice, it all had been tearing her apart inside all day. All of it was a painful reminder of the life that had been ripped from her. 

“They are the ones not speaking to me! They've abandoned me just like everyone else!” Nicholas’s eyes widened. “I have been left with nothing! All of my family has either died or betrayed me, and you were going to leave me to rot for a crime I never committed!" His mouth was open now, but she didn’t know if it was due to shock or because he was preparing a defense. If he was, she didn’t care. “Why did you leave me there?! You loved me enough to want to marry me, but not enough to believe that I was innocent? Not enough to want me to be free?” She jabbed a finger in his direction. “You’re a coward, Your Highness. A coward and a fool if you think there is anything here for you to salvage!” 

Her whole body felt hot in the cold night air, but even as it was almost unbearable to look at him, she did. She’d never before seen him look so…small. Or so speechless. The only sounds for a few moments were the waves against the ship, the creaking of the wood and ropes around them, and Elaina’s gulps for air. 

“I’m so sorry,” Nicholas said softly. 

She waited for him to go on, but he just stared at her with that stupid expression. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“No, that’s not all,” Nicholas snapped. “But you don’t want to hear that I have been terrified for every moment since you disappeared! You don’t want to hear that I have always known that if something happened to you, it was my fault! And you certainly don’t want to hear that I prayed to the Maker every day on my knees for your safety!”

Elaina blinked.

Nicholas reached out to clutch her hand in both of his. “I searched for you at every harbor I ever reached, asked everyone every question I could think of that wouldn’t put you in danger. It was the whole reason I joined the navy in the first place.”

“Oh, please!” Elaina tried to pull away, but there wasn’t enough room in the crow’s nest to get far. “You’ve always been interested in the Shadow. You’ve always wanted to stop him.”

“I don’t deny it,” Nicholas shot back. “But the only thing that made me strong enough to defy my father and finally join the navy was knowing an end to the Shadow was the only thing I could do to ensure your safety!”

“Well, you failed!” 

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you!” Nicholas threw up his hands. “I’ve never failed anyone more than I failed you!” 

She had not expected that, and she was unable to think of a single thing to say in response, not when insecurity marred his face like a scar. 

Nicholas sat heavily, his long legs taking up nearly the whole space in the crow’s nest. “When I found out you were gone from the dungeons…I lost everything worth having.” He looked up at the night sky, not looking at her as he continued. “And you may not believe this, but I owe Lewis all the precious cargo in my whole fleet for keeping you safe.”

At that, Elaina turned away and looked up at the stars for the thousandth time in the last year, hoping they would say something to guide her. But they stayed silent. Forcing her to make her own decision. That was all she’d been asking for, but now it felt like a punishment. 

“I’ll be king soon enough.” Nicholas’s voice was flat. “I’ll have the ability to officially pardon you, and you’ll be allowed to return home and have your title back.”

“Why would I want it back?” Elaina replied, snapping the door shut on her schoolgirl fantasies. “All I ever wanted was to come back to the sea. It’s my home.”

“There were some moments where you thought you could make land your home.”

“I was a naive slip of a girl, swooning over a flirtatious prince.”

“You were many things, but never naive.” Nicholas ran a hand over his hair, making it stick out more than it used to. He’d let it grow out more, Elaina noticed. She hated herself for noticing. "No, Elaina, I was the naive one. I was so afraid of my father, I didn't think about how that made me weak." The prince's low, self-deprecating laugh tore at Elaina's heart more than she would ever admit. "What kind of man does that? What kind of man is so weak that they fail to protect the innocent? And what kind of man is so full of fear that he fails to protect his love?"

There it was. The real insecurity behind Nicholas being loath to return home. 

She believed him now that all he had done in the past year, he'd done it to atone. For her. And he didn't think it was enough. Before today, Elaina didn't think so either. Now, face-to-face with his regret, she felt something crack deep in her chest where her heart had once been.

"If I didn't think that you would be a good king,” she said softly. “I couldn't have loved you."

Nicholas’s sharp inhale combined with the sudden flush of her body made her immediately regret the admission, but it was impossible to take back now. 

She heard the sounds of him getting back to his feet. “Elaina.” The wind carried his word to her ear like a consecration. The tentative brush of his fingers against the skin of her arm made her shrink away from him.

“Don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. 

She wanted to snap at him and yell some more, but she was finding it difficult to grasp the anger that had been so prevalent over the last year. 

“If there is any part of you that trusts me…” Nicholas leaned forward, eyes beseeching. “Come home. Help me make everything right. With you, we can stop the war and the Shadow. Ashland will be stable again, and the innocent will be protected."

"You don't need me for that."

Nicholas let out a mostly amused sound. "You've always been more selfless than any of the royal advisors, and you're smarter than them too."

He’d always been so good with words. Elaina knew that, it’s why all the young women her age back at court had fallen for him when he’d lacked all substance. She wanted to believe it was all a ploy. But when he was able to ask Lewis any question, he asked Elaina if she was treated well when she was in the dungeon and if she was left-handed. 

“Why do you have my slippers?” Elaina asked. There was no point in carrying her slippers on a navy ship with an entirely male crew.

“They were the only things that were yours I had left.” Nicholas’s hands raised to his neck, pulling his chain out from underneath his shirt to show her the ring that she’d found in his pocket a year ago. “I never got to give this to you, so…it wasn’t ever technically yours.”

Elaina stared at the ring. “You–”

“Carry it with me always,” Nicholas confirmed. 

Elaina turned away again. 

“I have no expectations of you, Elaina.” Nicholas leaned forward until she met his serious eyes. “I will not expect anything from you other than your aid. You will be free to leave whenever you wish.” He winced. “Though I would appreciate it if you did not return to piracy.” 

“Pants are far more comfortable than dresses,” Elaina said loftily. 

A singular chuckle came from Nicholas, and then he pursed his lips like he hadn’t intended to let it loose. “I can pardon you and the whole crew. Anyone who wants to return to Ashland for a new life will be welcome.”

The air rushed out of Elaina’s lungs. A full pardon for everyone? A new opportunity for Cook who—like Elaina—had been falsely accused of a crime? A new life for Jack, who had only ever known squalor and sea? A new chance for Lewis to once again be a part of the Royal Navy she knew he missed? 

Nicholas’s voice drew her out of her thoughts. “Whether or not you come home…I am working so that if you ever decide that I am worthy of your trust again, I will deserve it. And even if that day never comes, I would be even less of a man if I didn’t try.”

She tried to ignore how much his words meant to her, tried to grip onto logic to escape her feelings. But all her ice had suddenly thawed, leaving her with warmth and something akin to longing. 

Someday, Elaina would be able to admit that she’d felt more alive and more like herself in a day with Nicholas as the Broken Minnow’s prisoner than she had in a year aboard the ship. But today, that was just another truth she held tightly. 

She couldn’t bring herself to raise her voice above a whisper, hating herself for yielding as she made her choice. “I’ll need a new pair of shoes.”

“Thank you,” Nicholas said softly. 

“Shut up,” she replied.

-

Massive thanks to @sassysaxxy for not only giving me the book in the first place, but for reading through this for me and having amazing ideas. If you liked this, check out my writing masterlist for more!

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To attempt integrating with the family, I tried to help Mrs. Weasley with meals the next day. I didn’t know the first thing about cooking, our family had a cook, and at home our meals appeared on our table as effortlessly as they did at Hogwarts. But I felt guilty knowing that Mrs. Weasley was responsible for feeding so many people all by herself. She, however, seemed to view food as her sacred calling, and after eating all her delicious meals, I couldn’t argue. 

Neither could I argue with her when she banished me from the kitchen after I walked into the path of a floating squash and nearly got a concussion. 

So the window seat became my resident spot. 

It started out as a vantage point; from the seat, it was easy to see both out the window towards the makeshift Quidditch pitch and into the indoor main spaces without being easily seen myself. In fact, unless someone intentionally stuck their head around the Christmas tree, they would have no idea I was there. However, even though my spying yielded no results, the seat turned out to be an extremely comfortable spot that made it easy to get through the dense chapters of Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes. I wished I had a way to practice some of the more powerful spells I’d read about, but older spells were more volatile and definitely not the type of spells to perform in someone else’s living room, even if they were Gryffindors. 

In the growing darkness of Christmas Eve, I paused in my reading about the Fidelius charm to look out the window. The troop of Quidditch players filed out of the woods, shoving each other and laughing loudly. Their faces, bright red from the chill, held the same cheer as the red lights on the tree. 

“Arthur Weasley, get your finger out of that pudding!” I heard Mrs. Weasley say from the kitchen. Mr. Weasley had stayed home from work for the holiday and had been pinching food from his wife all day. She had been playfully whacking him and giving stern reproaches, but it was clear that she adored having her husband home. Strange. 

Fred, leading everyone back inside, hadn’t so much as set his dirty shoe on the doorstep before Mrs. Weasley called from the kitchen, “Fred Weasley, I know you’re not thinking of tracking mud and snow in on my clean floors.”

The group froze for a moment and then frantically started pulling their shoes off at the door. “Of course not, Mum!” Fred called back as he tried in vain to yank his shoe off. “What do you think we are, heathens?” 

Shoes successfully off, the tired and happy group filed inside the house. 

“You lot better wash before dinner,” Mrs. Weasley called to them. 

“Yeah, Ron,” Ginny shoved her brother and started walking towards the dining room. 

Mrs. Weasley didn’t move from her spot as she said, “You too, Ginevra. You’ve got mud in your hair.” Ginny stopped, pulled her long hair over her shoulder to inspect it, then sighed so dramatically, Granger burst into a fit of giggles as they walked to her room. 

Clem raced up the stairs, trying to beat Harry, Fred, and Ron back downstairs. Bill and Charlie lagged behind, looking fondly after their younger counterparts, as if being in a rush was naive. 

I nearly returned to my book…except I heard someone clear their throat on the other side of the Christmas tree. 

Fighting a smile, I waited until George emerged. “Hey you.” He sidled up to the alcove, leaning against the wall as he looked down at me in my curled up position. “Any new spells?”

“Lots.”

“Any I should be afraid of?”

I tilted my head. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Grin growing, George cut a glimpse in the direction of the stairs before reaching down to brush a gentle caress across my cheek. “You’re cold,” he said gently.

I ducked my face, causing his touch to fall away from my now-tingling cheek. “You’d better go wash up,” I managed to say composedly. 

George flashed a smile at me. “I thought you liked your men rugged.”

“If I did, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

His smile didn’t fade. “So I stand a chance as is, then?” 

I looked up at his easy-going expression, the loose stance of his feet and slightly hunched posture. “A small one.”

“Just a small one?” George adopted the pose of a waiter, holding one hand stiffly in front of him and the other behind him. “Tell me then, what is it you would prefer your men offer you?”

“Some peace and quiet, perhaps.”

His laugh was loud and true, and I relished in it. “You, peace and quiet? You’d get bored in an instant.” 

Did he mistake my being afraid as being entertained? Funny, he’d always seemed so dialed into my feelings, sometimes more than I was. 

“Y/N,” George said softly, drawing me out of my thoughts. “With all that’s happening in the world…and with the few resources I have…there’s not much I can promise you, but I can promise you that life with me will never be dull.”

Floundering in my lack of response, I looked away and reopened my book. “If you don't hurry, you'll be late for dinner.”

George wiggled his eyebrows. “Worth it.” 

-

Mrs. Weasley had outdone herself. 

The Christmas feast set out on the large, worn table seemed almost poetic with all its colors and smells, and everyone gathered together, hungry for a piece of the bounty.

The Weasley family was so large, I hadn’t had many opportunities to sit next to my brother or George. But tonight, by some Christmas miracle, I had Clem sitting directly across from me—bouncing excitedly in his chair as he stared at the Christmas pudding—and George on my right—grinning at me. 

An odd little haven this house was, but even so, being near Clem and George made me realize I felt truly merry on this Christmas Eve. 

“Darling,” Mrs. Weasley extended two knives to Mr. Weasley, who sat at the head of the table, “will you carve the pheasant?”

Mr. Weasley rose to his feet. He’d stuck one knife into the steaming bird to start when there was a light tapping at the kitchen window. 

“Oh, that’ll be from the school!” Mrs. Weasley practically ran to the window, letting the poor tawny school owl inside and out of the growing snowstorm. It looked beastly cold outside, yet the owl merely extended its leg to Mrs. Weasley long enough for her to untie the envelopes before hopping around and soaring back into the falling snow. 

Mrs. Weasley sorted through the envelopes on her way back to her seat. “That's strange.” She flipped through the envelopes again. “There's none for Y/N and Clem.” 

Fear seized my chest. “Why would there be?” I asked. Had they told the school that Clem and I would be here? 

“Oh, Dumbledore has his ways.” Mr. Weasley took a few envelopes from his wife and distributed them before returning to his carving. “He always knows when Harry's here, even if none of us tell him.” 

I glanced around to see if anyone at the table seemed disturbed by this, but everyone was far too preoccupied by the envelopes making their way through hands. Clem was distracted from the pudding when he had to pass Potter and Ron their envelopes. The former received his with little care, but the latter bit his lip as he ripped the seal of his envelope. 

I tried to hold onto the wisp of Christmas cheer I’d been feeling moments ago, but the words Troll and Dreadful were flowing through my vision. I’d never received such marks in my life, but this was a year full of firsts. I didn’t know whether to hope that an owl had gone straight to our parents in Monaco or to the manor where they would wait until our parents returned in the New Year.

“I do hope your marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts aren’t affected by that horrid woman,” Mrs. Weasley said, starting to dish up roasted potatoes onto Granger’s plate. “Goodness knows it’s needed at times like this.”

Clem glanced at me, and I ignored it, knowing it would be too obvious. Our father often roared about the futility of learning how to counter the Dark Arts. High marks from Umbridge were as meaningless as high marks from anyone else teaching DADA. I shifted in my seat, looking down at the chip in my plate and fighting the feeling of being an imposter. This cozy family had no idea the depths of dark magic that Clem and I had been taught. If they did, I had no doubt we would not be as welcome in their home. 

“And you dear?” 

I jerked my head over to Mrs. Weasley, cursing myself for getting distracted in my own head as she looked at me expectantly. “Hmm?” Hopefully the noise was inconclusive enough to work for whatever she’d asked me. 

“Oh, Y/N's fine,” George jumped in, not looking away from his plate, his abandoned parchment haphazardly tucked underneath his butter knife. “Her Patronus is the prettiest I’ve ever seen.”

From his position carving the pheasant, Mr. Weasley raised his eyebrows and Mrs. Weasley’s smile grew. They both looked surprised, but pleasantly so. 

It was impossible not to notice Fred, Ron, Ginny, Granger, and Potter all staring at George, however. George didn't seem to notice, but it gave me a queer feeling in my chest, an indecisive feeling somewhere between fear and defensiveness. Why would they care about George’s opinions about my Patronus? 

“And what is your Patronus, Y/N?” Mr. Weasley asked conversationally as he started loading up Bill’s plate with the carved meat, like I was just another one of his children. 

I looked at George, who looked up from his beef wellington to give an encouraging nod. “It’s…a lioness.” 

All signs of dining ceased as everyone stared at me. 

“A…lioness?” Mrs. Weasley echoed. 

“Yup.” George grinned. “She's practically a Gryffindor already, eh?” 

A fork clanged against a plate, and nobody else seemed to notice that it was Clem’s. 

“I wouldn't go that far,” I added hastily, shoving a bite of beef wellington to my mouth before I could remember that I didn’t really like beef wellington. 

Slowly, the chatter at the table resumed, but Clem stayed silent, for once not joining in with the Weasleys. His excitement returned only when Mrs. Weasley called, “time for presents!” and waved her wand, banishing all the dishes back to the kitchen. 

The large family all gathered around the tree, but before Clem could sit, I grabbed his shoulder to pull him into a hug. His arms came up stiffly. I pressed my face to the top of his head. “I'm not a Gryffindor,” I whispered softly as Fred loudly accused his mother of wrapping his present the sloppiest. “You don't need to worry about that.” 

Clem did not say anything, nor did the tension in his little body ease. 

“Dad and Mom don't know about my Patronus,” I continued. “They have no reason to be upset.”  

“Clem,” interrupted George's voice, “come sit here!” 

Before I could say anything more, Clem wiggled out of my arms and plunked down on the couch by George. 

Leaving me to sit beside Granger. 

I sat grimly, my posture ramrod straight, staring at Clem’s face for any further signs of worry. 

He didn't look comfortable as Mrs. Wealsey handed him a lumpy package. “I guessed at the sizing, dear, I hope it fits,” she said as Clem carefully untied the string and delicately unfolded the gift paper. 

He lifted the green sweater to see better, and I caught sight of a broomstick knitted on the front. Clem's face broke out into a grin. “It's just like mine!” he burst out, and the Weasleys all laughed. 

I stared as Clem pulled the sweater over his head and glanced down at the knitted broomstick as if to check if it was still there. 

The broomstick he no longer had. The broomstick Malfoy had reported and Umbridge had confiscated. The broomstick I'd claimed as my own and served the detention for. 

Looking down at my hand, I stared at the letters written there. 

I must obey the rules.

“Mine’s maroon again,” Ron complained as he held up his own sweater with a big R on the front, the ripped gift paper littering the ground around his feet. 

“At least yours has your initial on it,” Bill said, holding up his sweater to show everyone the earring Mrs. Weasley had knitted. Odd, Bill was grinning in spite of his words.

“Well, I figured if you liked your earring so much,” Mrs. Weasley tittered, and the whole room swelled with the loud laughter. “This one’s for you, dear.” Mrs. Weasley held out a package to me. “I hope I picked the right colors.” 

Wide-eyed, I untied the gift as gingerly as Clem. 

The sweater was knit from stormy-grey yarn. I touched it, my fingers sinking into the soft material. What would be on the front? Would she have knitted a snake for Slytherin? Or was there something else about me she thought I should walk around wearing against my chest?

Feeling nervous, I held up the sweater to look at the front. 

It was a feather. 

Black edges with a white section in the middle. 

A magpie feather. 

“Thank you,” I said softly, studying Mrs. Weasley’s face, trying to understand if she’d intentionally done it. Her eyes twinkled the way they always did, her easy smile holding no devious edge, and she quickly moved on to handing out other gifts. 

I glanced at George, but he was laughing with Fred about something. 

Had George told her about his Patronus? Or did she know what her son’s Patronus was? Was it some sort of claim, for me to walk around with a symbol of George’s Patronus on my sweater? My head whirled with it all. 

Clem watched Ron and Potter unwrap packages from Granger that looked suspiciously like books. I thought of the gift I’d bought for Clem upstairs and wondered if I should’ve brought it down and placed it under the tree. If we were home, Clem would have so many more presents to open than a sweater. 

The couch dipped beside me in the spot Granger had been sitting in before she’d stood up to eagerly show the boys something in their books. 

“I have something for you.” 

I scowled up at George. “I said–” 

“You didn't want me buying you a gift.” George maintained eye contact, even as his hand ghosted over mine, rotating it so it was palm up. “You said nothing about making one.” Something small and cold dropped into my palm. “Besides, it isn’t wrapped, so it hardly counts.”

I didn't look at it, staring at George. “I didn't get anything for you,” I replied, my fingers not so much as twitching to hold George's gift. 

“You do know what a gift is, yes?” George replied. 

“Yes,” I snapped. 

“Then you know proper gifts are given without expecting anything in return.” 

“But that’s not–”

“Hush.” George tilted his head towards my hand. “If you hate it, you can berate me after.”

Scowling, I looked down at my palm. 

It was a thin pewter chain with a tiny charm. I brought the charm closer to my eye, realizing that it was a tiny star. “So you had this lying around?” I asked, still not believing that George hadn't spent any of his WWW money on this. 

“It's an heirloom,” George said softly. “From my mum’s side of the family.”

My fingers froze, and I stared hard at the necklace, trying to wrestle the sudden emotion in my chest into submission. 

“It's been charmed with every defensive spell I could find in the Hogwarts library,” George murmured. “Plus some that Bill and Charlie knew.” 

How long had he been working on this? 

“And,” George reached into his pocket and drew out a tiny pin of a snitch, “I made one for Clem so that you don't go re-gifting yours.” 

I stared hard at the pin as he dropped it beside the necklace. I didn't know how George could come up with something like this. I didn't know whether to be angry or thankful. But most of all, I didn't know what to say. “Thank you,” I managed around the lump in my throat. 

George’s smile was extremely smug. “You’re welcome.” 

“Time for singing!” Mrs. Weasley shouted, and the flurry of activity inside the living room whipped into a full on storm as people started handing out lyric booklets and the older Weasley boys—including George—started charming instruments.

Sure that I would rather freeze to death than sing in front of George’s family, I got up from the sofa and slipped out into the backyard. 

My shoes crunched against the snow, and I stayed turned away from the house, struggling to breathe. 

The noises and smells and lights and colors of the Weasley Christmas fogged up my mind, making it impossible to think straight. 

We're going back to Hogwarts, I reminded myself sternly. Soon all of this will just be memories, and we'll all move on. 

The Weasleys would forget about me, and I would return to the environment where all dangers were ones I knew well. 

“The yelling takes some getting used to.”

I jumped, spinning to see the Gryffindor golden boy.

Harry Potter.

My hand automatically went to the pocket of my trousers, but my wand was upstairs. I eyed Potter warily. Did he have his wand? Had he been lurking? Or had he seen me leave and followed me? He had no reason to talk to me, to seek me out one-on-one. No good reason, anyways. 

Lifting from my pocket, my fingers lingered on the chain around my neck. I didn't know how strong George's spellwork was, but I supposed this was as good a way to find out as any. At least I could learn of any gaps I needed to fill for Clem’s pin before I gave it to him. 

But Potter made no move to get his wand, just watching me. 

“What?” I said warily. 

“The yelling.” He jutted a thumb over his shoulder at the Burrow. “They’re a loud bunch when they’re happy.” 

I stared at him, trying to comprehend what he was doing. Was he trying to chat with me? What did he mean by trying? I was not here to bond with the Chosen One. My parents would already be livid if they knew where I’d brought Clem to stay for the holidays. If they knew Harry bloomin’ Potter was here and I spoke with him?

They might very well transfigure me into a rock. 

Potter took a swig of his pumpkin juice. “Where I grew up, yelling meant trouble. The first time I had a family dinner with the Weasleys, I ducked when Fred yelled at Ron for eating his roll, but Ron just threw another dinner roll back at him and everyone laughed.” 

I turned away from Potter, trying to hide the expression that must’ve been on my face. The only thing that could make this interaction worse is if Potter learned anything about me. And, unfortunately, silence would be just as telling as tears. 

“They are a rowdy bunch.” I walked over to the lopsided stone bench piled with snow and started brushing it off. 

Potter joined me, holding his pumpkin juice in one hand while pushing snow off with the other. “It’s part of the Weasley charm. I hope nothing ever makes them change.” He took a seat, but I remained standing, his words making my spine straighten. 

“Are you trying to threaten me right now?” I asked, squinting my eyes. “Tell me how wonderful and caring they are as a way to guilt-trip me out of any nefarious plans I might have?”

Potter didn’t look surprised or insulted by my question. “Might have? Or do have?”

I watched him. I didn’t know Potter well enough to know how to appear non-threatening to him or even just irrelevant. Would some compassionate display inspire him? Or was it confidence that would convince him to leave me alone? 

When in doubt, start with the truth. 

“George invited me here,” I said, still not sitting on the bench. “He wouldn’t do that if he thought I was a threat to his family.”

“George is very trusting.” It was clear from Potter’s expression that he didn’t approve of that. 

How dare he? This wasn’t even his home, and yet he acted like some territorial guard dog. I almost glowered at Potter, only managing a thoughtful expression at the last minute. “Yes, he is. Clearly you aren’t.”

Potter leaned back on the bench in such a way that made me think of one of the tabby cats I’d seen around the Burrow, puffing out their fur and standing sideways to appear bigger and more menacing. “If someone has friends like Malfoy, I think that automatically calls their character into question.” 

Everything in my head went quiet, my frustration stealthily blossoming into anger. “You have no right to bring up Malfoy with me.” Yes, Malfoy had caused me trouble, but he had offered his home to myself and Clem, and that was not nothing. 

Potter looked angry now too. “After all that he’s done–”

“You don’t know him.”

“I know enough.”

I scowled. “I already knew arrogance was a Gryffindor trait, but thank you for the reminder.”

Potter’s nostrils flared. “You want arrogance, look no further than the git you’re defending.”

These Gryffindors and their superiority complexes. Knowing any further discussion of Malfoy would likely only upset Potter further, I took a deep breath. “I’m not going to argue this with you right now.” 

“If you really want to protect your brother, you should ask him about what Malfoy does in his spare time.”

“Ask Clem yourself,” I said coolly. “He’d be more than happy to tell you.” 

“What’s going on over here?” A careless arm slung around my shoulders, making me immediately tense. Glancing up, I saw George’s easygoing expression. The weight of his arm would’ve felt nice…if I didn’t see the way he was looking at Potter. This was some sort of possessive nonsense, and I didn’t need his protection. I reached up to shove his arm off me, but then my eyes fell on the grip on the butterbeer in his other hand. 

White knuckles.

Potter was on his feet now. “We were just talking–”

“About Quidditch,” I interrupted. “Potter was asking me what team our family supports in the Quidditch World Cup, and I was telling him that he’s asking the wrong sibling.”

George’s grip loosened, his knuckles returning to their normal natural color. “Oh.” His face still didn’t seem quite like himself. 

My hand was still reached up, tentatively touching his. I laced my fingers through his even as I resettled my attention on Potter, almost smirking at the united front that George and I now were. “Clem likes Quidditch so much, I think he’d even play during the snowstorm tomorrow.” 

“Ah, well, we’ve certainly played our matches in bad weather, haven’t we, Harry?” George said cordially. 

Potter’s face loosened, and he smiled, clearly not able to hear the slight edge to George’s voice that I could. Maybe he’d come from a loud house, but he hadn’t learned to listen for what lay on the outskirts of a conversation the way I had. “That we have,” he said, looking at ease. 

There was a slight pause. I expected George to continue the conversation as was often his prerogative with me and people in general, but he was silently watching Potter. Was he trying to intimidate? Or was he trying to figure out if anything deeper than Quidditch had just been discussed? 

The sounds of music reached my ears. The Weasleys must’ve started their caroling. 

Potter shifted his weight under George’s gaze. “Well…I’m going to go join.” He brushed past us towards the house, and even though I couldn’t see him, I could feel Potter’s eyes on the back of my head. 

George turned slightly to watch him go, and I was surprised by the intensity of his stare. Weren't he and Potter friends? Sure, the younger brother was the one who'd invited Potter here for the holidays, but the twins joked with Potter the same as everyone else, like he was one of the family. 

Turning to me, George let his arm fall from my shoulders. “If he was bothering you, I'll tell him to back off.” 

“He wasn’t bothering me.” There was no use in pitting George against one of his brother’s friends. Besides, I could handle it. 

George gave a long-suffering sigh. “I saw the look on your face, Y/N, and I know what it means. I also know Harry doesn't like Slytherins.” 

Funny, he seemed to be getting along with my little brother just fine. “Nothing happened.”

“Alright,” George said easily, though I could tell he didn’t believe me. He’d been believing me less and less lately, and it frustrated me because my defenses required all my words to be treated as truth. Still holding his butterbeer, George sat down where Potter had been, patting the bench next to him before looking up at me. His mouth had lost its tension, falling into the easy, default half-smile of his. 

In the moments following, I could pick out the sounds of I Cast a Spell on Father Christmas. I did not want to return to the cacophonous group, but I was afraid to sit beside George on the bench. So I turned away, back towards the house. “We should go rejoin your family.”

The living room’s window was visible from our position, the warm glow of light standing out against the darkening outdoors. Like it was a picture on the wall, I gazed at it lazily until I noticed the focal point, my feet pausing in the crunchy snow. 

Clem.

He wore a shabby jumper that had clearly been washed too many times, and pants that had been rolled up at his ankles to fit better. His hair stuck up on one side, a massive difference from his normally neatly combed look. Sitting on the end of the sofa beside Fred, Clem delightedly watched as Fred held up what I knew to be one of the twins’ joke wands. Fred waved it dramatically, and it changed into a miniature, live turkey, sending Clem into a fit of laughter as Fred lost hold of the turkey and started crawling on the floor to catch it, drawing the attention of his singing family. 

That was the funny thing about siblings—I knew what he looked like, so I never bothered to really look. 

The color in his cheeks spoke even more than the wide smile, but it was his posture that truly shocked me. He lounged against the cushions, propping his head up with his elbow against the arm of the sofa. My heart ached as I watched him laugh, so loudly I could’ve sworn I heard him through the glass. When had I last seen him this relaxed? This happy? This free? 

I knew the answer, which made my heart ache all the more.

What did all the protective spells in the world matter when the Weasleys—by nature of who they were—could give more to Clem than I’d ever been able to? How could my magical abilities ever measure up to what Clem deserved? 

“What are you thinking?” George asked quietly from his position beside me. I hadn’t heard him approach. In fact, I’d forgotten about him, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the scene.

He slid in between me and the house, peering down into my face. He tapped my temple twice. “Let me in.” 

The spell broken as soon as I could no longer see my brother, I glanced away, staring at the snow covering the crammed and uneven gardens. “I…I just can’t believe that this is your family.” I walked away from him, finally taking a seat on the bench, the bit of snow still on it soaking through my clothes immediately. 

Immediately, George sat beside me, twisting so that his whole body was oriented towards me. “What do you mean?”

He knew what I meant. And I knew that he knew what I meant. And he knew that I knew that he knew what I meant. He just wanted me to keep talking. And that was the sole reason I continued. 

“I just think about the family you got and the family Clem got…and I want to scream.” I gestured towards the house. “This, t-the stockings, the gifts, the breakfasts? The matches of Quidditch in poor weather and miniature turkeys? This is what Clem deserves.”

“What you both deserve.”

The words hit me like an axe to the forehead, making me jerk away from him, offense flooding my body. “What–that’s not what I’m saying!”

George didn’t falter under the weight of my outrage. “It’s what you should be saying.”

“Of course you have opinions about what I should be saying,” I huffed before I could even think about it. I looked back to the frozen pond, painfully aware of George’s eyes searching my profile. “I just…I’m not…” Wrestling with the words only made me more frustrated. I didn’t have practice in saying what I meant. Throwing my hands up in the air, I burst out, “I wish magic could fix everything!” 

The next few moments were quiet as I tried to rein in my temper. 

George leaned down, placing his butterbeer on the ground beside the bench. His fingers, cold and slightly damp from the condensation of the butterbeer, laced through mine. He tugged gently at them, as if trying to get my attention. “Magic for me has always been about wonder.” He ran comforting circles around the knuckle of my thumb. “How can I use it to bring joy to the world? How can I invent new ways to make people laugh?” I waited for him to continue, wondering why on earth he was taking the conversation in this direction. Was this about Potter somehow? “For you,” George shifted closer to me, catching my gaze, “magic is about power. That’s why you work so hard to learn and hate failing so much.”

I scoffed. “I’m a Slytherin, George. Ambition and cunning, remember?” I patted George's shoulder like he was a child, but George lifted his opposite hand to clutch mine against his shoulder, so he was holding both my hands now. Trapped, I had nowhere to focus except him.

“There are many reasons people push themselves to accomplish things,” he countered. “I can’t help but wonder…if it’s all about power, why do you try so hard not to draw attention to yourself?”

It was impossible to stay still under this type of scrutiny. I shifted my position on the bench, pulling my hand away from his shoulder. I meant to pull both hands away from him, but the one in his grasp had a mind of its own. “Attention makes me uncomfortable, you know that.”

George chuckled. “I do know that. Otherwise maybe you’d have let me buy you a Christmas gift instead of making one.”

“Don’t spend money on me.” I meant it to sound lighthearted, but it came out like a warning. 

“No spending,” George confirmed, looking down at our clasped hands. 

He didn’t ask why, he didn’t argue, just agreed. A warm feeling formed in my chest, blocking out the cold. How did my body always seem to know things my mind struggled to comprehend? It wasn’t fair. 

“But I wonder what the point of having power is if it’s not about people noticing you.” George tilted his head, and I knew what that meant. He was thinking. 

I pulled myself completely from his grasp at that, rising to my feet. “Is psychoanalysis a Gryffindor thing? The lot of you should be more well-adjusted if it is.” My tone was harsh in my attempt to cover up the vulnerability George was uncovering with his words, harsher than I meant. I took two steps away, pivoting to face the frozen pond. 

“I can’t stop thinking about your parents’ letter.”

My head jerked sharply in George’s direction. His crestfallen expression was directed at his butterbeer, like it had mortally disappointed him, yet the look still twisted something in my gut. I shouldn't have said anything about what Clem deserved, then this conversation would never have started. I hated that George had read their words, that he’d gotten a glimpse that couldn’t be undone. He was too curious, too insightful to leave it alone. Then again…if he hadn’t read it, Clem and I would be all alone at Hogwarts for Christmas, and Clem certainly would not be smiling right now. I faced the house again, crossing my arms against the wind as my discomfort wrestled with my gratitude. “You shouldn’t linger on it.”

For a moment, it was quiet, and I dared to hope that George would listen to my words once instead of acting as though he had a direct line to my heart.

“They said that you haven’t learned from your previous punishments.”

Every muscle in my body locked up, as if he’d cast the Full Body Bind Curse on me. This was too dangerous a road for George to trek. He was already too close, and he couldn’t be allowed any further. How could I get him to drop it? 

My body was screaming for me to run, to escape so that he couldn’t continue. But it would never work because George was too good at tracking me down. And even if I somehow managed to avoid this conversation, he wouldn’t stop thinking of it. It would continue to grow in him, changing his actions, encouraging him to do more stupid things. How could I stop the unstoppable?

Then I remembered being in the dungeons and how George’s proximity scrambled my mind, made it impossible to think straight. Did my touch make him feel the same way?

Slowly, I turned back to meet his steady gaze, his chin tilted so he could see my face. There was a snowflake in his eyelashes that hadn’t yet melted, and I had no clue how. Every part of George was warm—his skin, his eyes, his soul. Tentatively, I reached out, bracing my hands on his shoulders. His hands found my hips, and he looked up at me with those eyes—the eyes of his kind, selfless mother. “Every parent disciplines their child,” I murmured. Taking a chance, I let one hand find his hair, running through the orange strands. “They wouldn’t be parents if they didn’t.” 

George hummed agreeably, pushing up onto his feet and wrapping an arm around my back to pull me into him. He brushed his nose against mine, making my eyelids flutter shut as I started struggling to think straight. Was the heady influence of our closeness affecting him too? Had I convinced him not to press it? 

His eyes followed his finger as he distractedly ran it down my sleeve in a meandering trail. “Remember when I showed you my Patronus?” 

“Vividly.” I shook my head, sliding my hands around his neck, fully leaning into him now. “That whole day was maddening.” I could do this, I could follow him down memory lane. We could stay in our past instead of him trying to cross over into where he wasn’t welcome.

George allowed me to bring my mouth close to his. 

He’d told me he didn’t want to kiss me until I had no doubt that I wanted him to, and I hadn’t proved that to him yet. But were we both about to break our own rules? Merlin, what was it about George Weasley that always had me breaking rules? Mine, ours, his, my parents’, our professors’. No rules were safe, and I couldn’t quite bring myself to care when he was this close to me. 

But when George opened his mouth, he didn’t ask me to kiss him or say anything about how close we were. “That day, when I raised my wand,” he said, “you flinched.”

I froze, all thoughts of kissing immediately gone, replaced with paralyzing fear. 

Still centimeters from my face, George’s eyes flicked up to mine, and I saw far more discernment there than I would’ve hoped. “Now, at first I thought that maybe it was a Hogwarts reflex, like maybe some tosser from Gryffindor hexed you sometime, but I’ve known you for too long to believe that. I didn’t need to see you at Lockhart’s dueling club in our fourth year to know that no one can best you.” 

No, no, no, he needed to stop talking. I gripped the collar of his cloak. “George…” What could I say?

He shook his head, almost more to himself than I. “No one can keep a secret at Hogwarts anyway, so if that had happened, I would’ve heard about it.” 

Please stop.

A shiver ran up my spine. “George, I’m cold.” I’d meant for him to take me inside, back to the chaos of his family, but instead George pulled off his cloak and put it around my shoulders, so that his only defense against the winter wind was his sweater. George’s fingers held the cloak tightly shut around me, holding me close. 

Proximity.

I’d meant it as a remedy, to distract him from going down this path. But now it was a poison, sapping the strength from both my limbs and my resolve. I stared up at him, silently pleading. George’s eyes held more unbearable sadness than I’d ever seen before, and I knew, as he opened his mouth once more, that there was no coming back from what he would say next. 

“Your parents cast spells on you for punishment, don’t they?” 

My mouth dried up.

No. No, no, no, no. 

“I…I don’t know where you got that idea, but it’s–”

“Wrong?” George finished. 

“Incredibly wrong. It’s the wrong-est thing you’ve ever said, and you’ve said some crazy things.” I pushed his hands away from the cloak. He let me, but the corners of his mouth turned down in an expression of deep unhappiness. “I don’t know why you’re looking so upset,” I told him, my voice shaking as I jammed my cold hands into my armpits. “The very idea that the Y/L/Ns would resort to something so–”

His scowl deepened. “Barbaric?” 

I’d thought his sadness was unbearable, but I was woefully unprepared for his anger. It made me stumble over my words even harder. “E-exactly, it’s, well, it’s frankly insane to think something like that–” I stopped to draw in a breath, abruptly straightening my spine. “How dare you suggest such a thing?” I snapped before I could stop myself. “Why, because all Slytherins are coldhearted a-and cruel? We’re all so heartless, we can't even love our own children?!” 

Why wasn’t George answering? Why wasn’t he arguing or even falling over himself to apologize? Why was he just standing and looking at me like that, like he'd already decided he knew what was true? 

“If you’re so convinced of this insane idea and you won’t believe me, why don’t you ask Clem?” I said haughtily. 

“Because I know you,” George said softly, but not gently. His eyes were steely. “You took his detention with Umbridge. He’s your most powerful happy memory. You intercept his letters. You don’t believe he’s safe unless you see it with your own eyes.” His hand found my cheek. “You take his punishments too, don’t you?”

I should've loved him in that moment for knowing me so well. For seeing me in a way no one had before. Instead, I hated him. Him and his perfect, loving family and his stupid freckles and his messy hair and his endless curiosity and most especially the way he was looking at me right now as he cradled me like something precious and broken. 

“You self-righteous…insufferable prat!” I shoved at him, making his hand fall from my cheek. 

But George still didn't give up. “What do they do? Jinxes? Transfiguration?”

“George!”

“Or maybe the Cruciatus curse is their favorite, hmm?”

“Oh, piss off!”

“Not a chance.”

I glowered at George. “Why can’t you take a hint?” Why did he have to keep pushing?

“Because you’re hurt.” George's voice shook, like he was struggling not to shout. “I can see it, I can see the pain you’re in and you don’t normally bother to be hurt, so I…” he trailed off. “I don’t know, I’m just…I want…” He scrubbed frustratedly at his own face. “I’m trying to make you see that you don’t deserve this!”

Immobilized, I blinked at him. 

Deserve? 

What did that have anything to do with what we were talking about?

A loud clamor grew behind us, the sound of George’s family arguing about what song to sing next carrying from the open back door.  

The sheer volume of joy George’s family participated in and the pride they felt. Talking with each other as if they enjoyed it while they ate meals together. They teased each other and laughed with each other and helped everyone. The kids all played Quidditch together, and Ginny was involved without even a question, even though she wasn’t a boy. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley never treated Clem and I any differently than Granger or Potter, even though they were more similar to the Weasleys than we. 

All of it made me uncomfortable and had been making me uncomfortable for days. None of it fit in with my idea of family. But was it wrong or just unfamiliar? 

Was it possible that my family—one of the Sacred 28—was less of a family than this kooky collection of gingers?

George watched me carefully, and I knew his uncanny ability to understand my thoughts wasn't failing him. “I care about you, Y/N.” He started forward and then abruptly stopped, like he’d reached the end of a leash. Then he held out a hand, silently asking me to come forward instead of crowding me. “I know we haven't talked about what we, well, what this is, but I care. And caring means that I want to soothe every hurt and grieve every scar.” He held out his hand further, as if struggling against the leash to get as near me as he could. “I…I can’t grieve if you don’t tell me.”

I accepted George’s hand and allowed him to pull me in close to him. I looked up into his face, his beautiful face at odds with pain I knew he felt deeply in his heart. 

My pain. He was feeling my pain. 

I knew it was pointless. I knew it wouldn’t work. But still, I tried to speak. My tongue attached itself to the roof of my mouth, and my throat started to swell, making it difficult to breathe and impossible to make any noise. I fought it, trying to do as George asked—no, what he deserved—but it was no use. The words wouldn’t leave my mouth. The pain of wanting to confide in him, but being unable to was an agony I never wanted to feel again. 

Ever the perceiver, I saw understanding spark in George’s face, followed by another pained expression. “They cursed you never to speak of it…didn't they?” His pain morphed to anger again. “It’s not bad enough to hurt you, they have to silence you as well?!”

There wasn’t enough steadiness in my legs for me to leave George. Instead I pressed my face into his chest. “Please stop.” The same request, but weaker. 

“Why?!” George asked angrily, the vibrations of his loud voice thrumming like dangerous magic through his chest against my face. “Why should I stop when your parents are mistreating you–”

“Because I have to go back!” I snapped, still gripping him but pulling my face away from him to meet his eyes. “I don’t get to spend forever here or even at Hogwarts. Any possible end to this is years away!”

“No, you…you can’t go back.” George’s voice lowered, reaching a frenzied pitch. “You don't have to, you could find a job or come stay with me, or just leave England altogether and never return, anything is better than going back!”

“And leave Clem behind?” My mouth twisted. “Clem still has six years until he’s seventeen, he will still have to go back to them every summer, every holiday break. If I’m not there, what do you think it’ll do to him?” I ran an aggravated hand through my hair. “He needs me.”

“And what about you?” George asked, lifting a hand to gently unwind my hand still clutching my locks. “How is it right for you to be punished for his sake?”

I sniffed. “Do you remember…in the hallway after my detention with Umbridge, when this whole thing started?”

George looked wary but nodded.

“I asked you if something was still punishment if it was worth it.” I met his eyes, allowing him to see the steely resolve now that he’d seen then. “Their treatment isn’t punishment.”

Devastation tugged at George’s lips. “No, Y/N, that’s not right. They’re not treating you the way you need to be treated.”

I batted his touch away. Needing was for children. Needing was for people who had trustworthy people around. Needing was for deluded people who believed that someday things would get better. Needing was for the weak. 

“I don’t need anything.” 

George didn’t like that, I could tell by the twist of his mouth. I could also practically feel the thoughts whizzing in his mind as he tried to figure out how to respond. 

“I need things,” he finally said.

“Of course you’d say that,” I muttered. He just wanted me to admit I did too. Well, I wouldn’t be coerced into admitting weakness. 

“I’m not ashamed to say it, Y/N.” George’s voice was strong. “I need my parents to support me and my brothers to keep me grounded and my friends to laugh with and Fred for everything.” He paused and then shook his head as his hands settled back on my hips, squeezing light enough not to hurt me but hard enough to let me know he meant it. “Well, almost everything.” 

“That’s very touching,” I said, not mustering quite as much acid as I intended. 

George’s exhale sounded faintly amused. “Y/N…” His grip tightened slightly, making sparks fly underneath my skin that I tried desperately to ignore as he continued speaking. “If you did…if you wanted to need someone…you could need me.” 

A swift desperation I did not understand swept through me. 

How was this man real? How could he so easily let go of my contempt and acidity? How could he care so much about the things I wasn’t saying? No one in their right mind would pursue someone as prickly as I, yet here he was. Unwavering. 

In such a short amount of time, George had managed to influence my thinking, my decisions, my feelings. He’d managed to get me to defy my parents by bringing Clem to the Burrow. And now, just like in the owlery, he was coaxing more vulnerability from me than anyone other than Clem had ever done. With Clem, it was an instinctual vulnerability, an animalistic need to protect. With George, it was a delicate vulnerability earned by every joke, every act of service, every moment of support. Clem was my weakness. But would George become another weakness or a new strength? 

“George…”

My voice failed again. The words wouldn’t come out. But this had nothing to do with a curse and everything to do with my own inability to say them. 

I couldn’t even ask him to kiss me. To say that I needed him? Would that ever be possible?

“I won’t push,” George mumbled. “Even if you can’t say it, I’ll be here. Waiting.”

I twisted away from him, away from the generosity and warmth, wiping at my humiliating tears. Arms wrapped around me from behind, and for a split second, I thought they were going for my throat. 

But no pain followed the touch as George cradled me. “You’re so strong,” he murmured close to my ear. “But you’re not on your own anymore.”

-

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“Well, that you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?” 

The familiar voice made my body lock up, just as a warm body flopped onto the couch from seemingly nowhere. I turned to see George settling into the couch cushions, his arm resting casually on the back of the couch behind me. 

“George!” Hand over my raging heart, I fought the gape of my mouth and lost. 

He was here. 

In the Slytherin common room. 

“What…are you doing…here?”

“Oh, I’m just out for a wander. It’s the last night at Hogwarts before I go home tomorrow, you know.” He snapped his fingers then pointed at me like he’d suddenly remembered something. “Weren’t you also headed somewhere tomorrow?” The smile on his face was so very self-satisfied, reminding me I could certainly never amuse George as well as he amused himself.

I knew several people who wouldn’t be amused at all by the idea of me going to the Burrow.

With a sharp exhale, I glanced around to see that two young Slytherin girls were eyeing George with growing suspicion. Two young Slytherin girls with eyebrows and frowns all too similar to Warrington’s. I seized George's arm. “We're leaving.” Pulling him off the couch, I shoved him towards the common room entrance as I ignored Clem—I did not want to see the expression on my brother’s face. Marriage indeed! Ha!

“You can’t be here,” I snapped at George, glancing over my shoulder at Warrington’s sisters. 

My hands felt not a mite of tension in the muscles of George's back. “Oh, c’mon, it’s the last night of term! No one cares!” Still, he did not resist me as I pushed him out of the common room door, which melted away behind us into an unassuming marble wall. 

I took a deep breath, some of my panic subsiding as I pulled George away from where any Slytherins entering or exiting the common room would immediately notice us. “What on earth possessed you to sneak in there? Do you want to start trouble?”

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He shrugged. “Starting trouble seemed like the quickest way to find you.”

“I was helping Clem study for examinations.” I quirked an eyebrow at him. “Hopefully you were studying too.”

“What, you don’t trust my natural intelligence?” George asked, a hand on his chest and a small smile toying with his lips. 

“Not as much as you clearly do.” 

Instead of firing back, George leaned against the wall, shoving his hands into the pocket of his trousers. “So…you were spending every evening in the last week helping Clem study?”

“Yes. He really needed help in Charms, he doesn’t like Flitwick.” 

George’s lips pursed. “So the fact that I saw him in the courtyard on Monday evening? Or in the library for Wednesday evening?” 

He'd been keeping tabs on my brother? 

Paranoia reared its head like a territorial centaur, and I breathed through it. George had never once shown any malice towards Clem, he wouldn't be hunting Clem down. 

“Yeah,” George said with a slight frown. “Like I said. Avoiding me.”

I blinked, realizing belatedly that I'd missed my chance to give an excuse as to why he hadn't seen me with Clem. I also realized, as I gazed at George, that there was genuine hurt lingering. 

“I wasn't trying to hurt you,” I mumbled. 

George let out a little huff. “That's not how you say what you're trying to say.” 

“Oh? And what am I trying to say?” 

“You're trying to say you're sorry.” 

I bristled. “Slytherins don't apologize.” 

“Your parents certainly don't.” 

I pressed my lips together, not certain how to respond when I could see George struggling to contain his anger. 

“I worried that I'd said too much or not enough or all the wrong things.” 

A twinge in my chest brought my pride down enough to let the words over. “I'm sorry. It wasn't you, it was just…hard. For me.” 

George's eyes lifted thoughtfully to the ceiling, but I could tell by the slight upturn of his lips that he was joking. “Well, I suppose I forgive you. After all, I'm sure no one else has ever had your snot on their favorite sweater.” 

My cheeks flamed, and I buried my face in my hands. If one could only perish from embarrassment and never have to face wizardkind ever again…

“That was meant to make you laugh.”

I peeked through my fingers just in time to see George push off the wall to come near. My heart kicked up its pace for reasons more alarming than mortification. His hands pulled mine from my face, his expression apologetic as he watched my face. 

And suddenly I wanted nothing more than to hide again. “Are you thinking of kissing me?”

George took a long breath. “I promised myself I'd behave with you.”

“Oh, because you’re an expert in behaving?”

“No, but I’m an expert on you.” He tilted his head, making his crooked smile seem even more lopsided. “If I were ever to try and kiss you when you didn’t want me to, you’d hex me.” He held both hands in a what-do-you-know gesture. “Yet here I stand…unhexed.”

I scowled. “I’m not turning this into another one of your make-out spots.”

“One of our make-out spots,” he corrected. “And we do need another one, unless you want to sneak into the Potions Classroom right now, I’m sure Professor Snape won’t notice.”

My mouth fell open, but I quickly shut it. “Twit,” I mumbled half-heartedly. 

George didn’t laugh like I’d expected. “But you’re not ready for that.” He let my hands go. “You’re not ready for me to kiss you again.” 

What?

I folded my freed arms across my chest, suddenly feeling cold. 

Was he…rejecting me? 

As soon as the thought popped into my head, George stepped closer—not touching me, but only a breath away. “I don’t want to kiss you until you have no doubt about me at all.”

“I don’t have…doubt.” 

George smiled, exercising his talent to find humor where there was none to be found. “You can’t even say you don’t without sounding like you do.” 

Feeling morose now, I uncrossed my arms and wrapped them around myself instead. For some reason, I felt like I had to apologize, which was silly! I didn’t owe George kisses, and he didn’t owe me any. 

“I didn’t mean to make you defensive,” George murmured as his hand brushed my cheek. “But I want us to kiss when we’re both bursting to. When you want to kiss me so much you can’t even joke about it. Until then?” His smile widened. “I’ll be here.” He didn’t wait for a response, meandering over to the nearby fountain near the staircase that would lead him back up the steps to the Great Hall. “I might tell you to pack a scarf.” 

I blinked, trying to process the speed with which he moved from potentially promising to stick around for years to packing. “Er…what?” 

George slid his hands into his pockets as he faced me, walking backwards away from me now. “You know, if I had any idea where you were going tomorrow.” He gave a mock salute and walked up the stairs. 

The corridor felt even colder without him.

-

Clem chose to ride in a compartment with his friends, so I wandered the Hogwarts Express until I found a compartment with a few Hufflepuffs from the year below me. I sat in the corner holding Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes in front of my face, and none of them bothered me. 

If I wasn’t in need of my inconspicuous seat, I would’ve rolled my eyes when they offered me a chocolate frog. Hufflepuffs.

I would never have admitted it to anyone, but I only managed to read two pages on the whole ride. My mind was preoccupied with worries and problem-solving. If this arrangement didn’t work out, could I bring us back to our estate? Would our parents have instructed the staff not to let us stay, even though our parents wouldn’t be there? I had enough money left from my last allowance for Clem and I to stay in a room at Diagon Alley. I didn’t know when I would next receive an allowance, so I was loath to use that much money. Buying a gift for the Weasleys had already taken a decent bite on my savings. 

Unfortunately, I didn’t have a good alternative planned by the time the train slowed to a stop. Reluctantly, I dragged my luggage out of the compartment after the Hufflepuffs, keeping my eyes peeled for any Slytherins or any redheads. 

Stepping out onto the platform and seeing all the parents embracing their children made my heart twist unpleasantly. My parents weren’t the type to embrace me after not seeing me for months, but one of my father’s characteristic tight smiles of approval could make me feel like I was flying. Now, no such smiles waited for me. 

Clem appeared, staying close enough to be my little shadow as we moved our luggage to the end of the train. “Over there.” I followed his gaze to the reunion taking place. 

The Weasleys were like a red-haired mob, all pushing in on one another, moving luggage and greeting one another. Two grown boys had been waiting with whom I assumed were Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. The older of the two wore a charcoal gray robe with leather pants underneath and an untucked white button-up. A singular earring dangled from his right ear. The other boy, younger than the first but still older than the twins, seemed normal enough until I noticed the large, pink burn scar on one side of his neck. Forget their blood traitor heritage, my parents would take issue simply with how these boys looked. 

Mr. Weasley, a smiling man with a weak chin, stayed in one place and clapped all the boys on the shoulders in greeting as they passed him. When the Weasley daughter and Granger walked up, he enfolded them each in a quick hug. With hair seemingly as flustered as she, Mrs. Weasley couldn’t stay in one place like her husband, flitting from one to another out of excitement. She’d just as soon plant a kiss on Fred’s cheek than turn and fret over the state of Potter’s robes. When Ron thanked her for her last package of cakes, she threw her arms around him.

“I can’t breathe, woman!” Ron hollered. “Geroff!”

The Weasleys, Potter, and Granger laughed, and though every laugh was different, all were lively. This was a family unafraid to take up room. 

Clem’s eyes were as wide as my own. “There’s so many of them.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. We didn’t even have as many cousins as George had siblings. 

I glanced around for the third time, making sure no one was paying much attention. The Slytherins usually got off on the other side of the train, so it was less likely that anyone who knew our parents would see us. One less problem to worry about. 

When I finally refocused on the Weasleys, Mrs. Weasley’s eyes were settled on me, and I was shocked to see how much they resembled George’s in color, shape, and feeling. “Welcome, dear,” she said, in a much softer tone than she had been using to greet her children. “We’re so happy to have you both here.” Then, she seemed to notice the bag in my hand. “George!” She turned and swatted the back of Fred’s head. “What have I told you about a lady carrying her own bag?!”

“Oi!” Fred rubbed where she’d hit him. “I’m Fred!”

“Oh. Sorry, Fred,” she mumbled, before rounding on George.

George danced out of his mother’s reach. “Alright, alright, I’m on it!” He sidled up to me, plucking my bag from my grip. Automatically, I reached for Clem’s bag, but George knocked my hand away, picking up Clem’s bags as well. “Let me be a gentleman,” he told me, looking very serious. I supposed if I had a mother like Mrs. Weasley watching us like a hawk, I would be on my best behavior as well. I waited for George to wave his wand and charm the two bags to fly on their own, but he simply carried them, one in each arm.

Fred glanced at George’s own luggage, rolled his eyes, and started pulling it alongside his own. 

“Everyone got their things?” Mrs. Weasley called, and a round of affirmation sounded. “Then let’s go!” Without glancing behind her, she marched towards the exit of Platform 9 ¾, Mr. Weasley falling in step beside her. 

The horde of people followed her, Clem and I at the back of the group. I glanced around as we walked, hardly believing Clem and I hadn’t been seen by any of the members of our house. 

Until the group filed towards the magical gate that would lead us to the Muggle King’s Cross, and I caught sight of Malfoy watching the group with a sneer by one of the brick columns. Before I could think to hide behind a Weasley and pull Clem with me, our eyes locked. 

The hatred in Malfoy’s eyes cooled slightly, allowing room for confusion—a vulnerability I knew he wouldn’t have afforded if he’d been surrounded by any of the goons from our house. 

Slowing my pace, I watched the Weasleys pull ahead. Just at that moment, George was talking to Clem, so neither of them noticed when I took a sharp turn to join Malfoy by the column. “Don’t tell anyone.” I wasn’t sure if it sounded like I was begging or threatening, but Malfoy tipped his head back, staring at me with disapproval tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“So you are staying with them.”

I glanced around, too afraid of our surroundings to verbally confirm it. Seeing that no one was paying attention, I stepped closer so I could speak even quieter. “You owe me one for ratting me out.”

The look in Malfoy’s eyes told me he knew I was speaking the language of our house. And if anyone could respect a Slytherin gesture, it was a Malfoy. I was collecting the debt we both knew he owed me; I had named the price of our settlement. After studying me carefully, Malfoy let out a sharp sigh. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I do.” I calmly held his stare, not allowing him to see a single hint of the doubts and fears I felt.

“You’ll go home if it’s not safe?” he asked lowly.

I pursed my lips. “Can’t.”

One word. One word, and I knew Malfoy understood the situation far deeper than the happy Weasleys could, even George. It wasn’t about how well Malfoy knew my parents; he too had spent his entire life trying not to be crushed by the expectations of our pure-blooded legacy, and we’d both reached the maturity to realize that it could crush us one day. 

The day where our allegiance would be demanded.

“My father’s gone for the holiday,” he muttered, and I didn’t need to ask who Mr. Malfoy would be serving this Christmas. “If you need somewhere to stay…my mother won’t say anything.”

It wasn’t an empty offer. Mrs. Malfoy had always adored Clem and I. When my mother had forbade me from eating dessert during last Christmas, Mrs. Malfoy would send Malfoy up with an extra slice for me. I wanted to thank Malfoy, but Slytherins didn’t trade on gratitude. “If I have to, I will,” I promised. 

Malfoy’s gaze moved over my shoulder, and his sneer returned. “The weasel’s waiting for you.” I glanced to see Fred, standing at the nearest arch, watching us. 

I was about to go to him when Mrs. Malfoy herself walked up to us, smiling fragilely at me. “Y/N, you’re looking lovely.”

My returning smile likely looked like one of my father’s. “Mrs. Malfoy, it’s wonderful to see you.” I leaned forward to press a quick air kiss to her cheek. “I hope you two have a happy Christmas.” 

Then, without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel to join Fred, whose eyes flicked between myself and the Malfoys as if trying to decide which he would eat first if he were a Pogrebin. I studied Fred’s expression warily, trying to discern how much he’d heard. “Is there a problem?” I said lightly.

Fred’s shrewd gaze didn’t shift. “Just…didn’t want you to fall behind.” 

“Kind of you,” I muttered, biting back a more acerbic comment in my mind.

Fred fell into step behind me. “It seems even Slytherins know better than to trust other Slytherins.” His word choice was intentional, but his tone didn’t suggest that he had overheard anything of substance. 

“You’re mistaken.” I shot him a cool smile as we neared his family. “I don’t trust anyone.”

“Except George.”

My cool smile slipped, and my eyes were drawn to George, who was still engaging Clem in conversation. As if sensing my attention, George looked up at me and smiled. “Except him,” I quietly agreed. 

“Do I need to–” Fred cut himself off as we stopped beside the group, which was piling all the luggage into one heap. He frowned as he busied himself with bringing the cases he carried forward, and I got the distinct impression that he hadn’t finished with me. 

I nearly cringed as I looked at the pile. There was no way to distinguish between Clem’s luggage and mine—both black, sleep, and sporting our family crest. The Weasley’s, however, had all different colors, all sporting Spell-O-Tape, stickers of various Quidditch teams and animals, and even things written in ink. 

Mrs. Weasley waved her wand, and the luggage disappeared.

“Now then, I’ve got Ginny, Dad’s got Hermione, Bill’s got Ron, Charlie’s got Harry, and…” Mrs. Weasley glanced at me. “Do you have your Apparition license, dear?” 

“Yes, and I will take Clem, if you can just show me a picture and tell me exactly where it is.”

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchanged a look. “We don’t have a photograph,” Mr. Weasley said. 

There was silence. 

None of the Weasley clan made eye contact with me, as if they were scared their eyes might give something away and not realizing that avoiding my gaze said just as much. This had to be related to security. They didn’t want me knowing exactly how to get to their house. 

George nudged me, a tentative gesture which felt unlike him. Since when did George’s confidence waver? “I can take Clem.”

I glanced at him, hating that everyone’s eyes were on me. If they weren’t watching, I could argue with George until he was blue in the face, and he still wouldn’t succeed in stealing my baby brother. But the more I disagreed now, the more everyone in this family would know that Clem was my weakness. 

Did I trust George? I wasn’t sure. 

Did I trust that, if George took Clem other than where I ended up, I could track my brother down? Yes. 

Still, I couldn’t help looking down at Clem. “You alright to go with George?”

Clem nodded and walked to George, who grinned down at him as Clem held onto his shoulder. In turn, Fred offered me his arm like a gentleman and tossed his head as if trying to show off his hair. “Our roguish looks inspire trustworthiness, do they not?”

An innocuous and characteristic comment that sent chuckles through the family. Despite the fact it felt like something George would say, I didn’t feel like laughing. I took Fred’s arm silently, irritated that I had to hold so tightly to him. 

George rubbed his hands together, looking at his family. “Last one there’s a bowtruckle!” Instantly, the designated pairs started Disapparating. 

But instead of immediately Disapparating, Fred’s arm pulled away. For a split second, I thought he was going to Disapparate without me and began to stretch my hand out to grab his shoulder before he could. He didn’t Disapparate, however. He turned to me, looking the most serious I’d ever seen him look. “Do I need to be worried?” 

Apparently Christmas break confrontations were the gifts that just kept on giving. 

I blinked languidly at Fred, as if I wasn’t at all intimidated and my heart wasn't pounding at my separation from Clem. “Worried about what? There are so many alarming things, it's hard to keep it all straight.” A flash of annoyance crossed Fred’s face. I scanned George’s twin, trying to understand what he wanted from me. He hadn’t reacted well to the sarcasm, so maybe authenticity would settle him. A risky choice, considering sarcasm was so much safer than authenticity. “Are you worried about Malfoy? Worried about my brother and I being Slytherins? Worried that I’ll somehow bring a lynch mob to your front door?”

“I’m worried about George,” Fred said shortly. “Because he really likes you, and I don’t think he’s ever been closer to getting his heart broken.” 

“Neither have I,” I said. “And if that happens, he’s got you.” I wondered if Fred could hear the real truth in my reply. If your brother and I break each others’ hearts, he has a loving family and a horde of friends to help him. I have my eleven-year-old brother who asks if we’re getting married or just practicing.

Whatever amount of subtext Fred picked up on seemed to be enough. He offered me his arm once more. I took it and shut my eyes. The momentary compression of Apparation took my breath away. But when I felt the weak winter sun on my face, I opened my eyes once more.

The first thing I saw was Clem, silently laughing as George said, “that’s when I told him that the Sea Urchin Jinx only improved his chances.” My breaths grew easy once more at the sight of my brother. 

The second thing was the pile of luggage that the Weasleys were now dismantling. 

The third thing was the house itself.

The Burrow, as George had called it, was tall and narrow. It appeared to have seven floors, but stacked like they’d been put there by a child who was never meant to be an architect. The whole structure looked moments away from toppling over with its uneven shape, laden with its clear additions. 

“What took you so long?” George asked his twin, quietly enough that it was covered by the sound of Ginny shouting at Ron for shoving her trunk into a snow bank in order to get to his own.

“We got lost,” I said before Fred could answer. “Appeared in the wrong place.” 

I half-expected Fred to defend himself, but the other twin simply nodded. “Came out over by the Diggorys’ place,” he said. 

Diggory…as in Cedric Diggory? The boy who’d died last year? 

George’s skeptical eye roved over both of us, but eventually he joined the fray and picked up Clem and I’s luggage once more before walking towards the house. My bag wasn’t light, I knew that for a fact, yet he didn’t seem encumbered by it at all. He never seemed encumbered by anything, physical or otherwise. The ease granted by his confidence made life weightless, I supposed. 

I didn’t even realize amidst all my assessing that I’d stopped walking, not until Clem glanced back at me. “Are you coming?” 

Glancing around to make sure no one had noticed my ogling, I quickly caught up with Clem, and together we walked into the lions’ den. 

I wondered, did the Weasleys gravitate towards red and orange? Or was it an intentional choice based on their house colors and the color of their hair? Whatever wasn’t orange or red was still warmly colored. The walls that weren’t covered with striped wallpaper were made up of oddly sized stones nestled in very old looking mortar. An olive green blanket lay folded on a light brown couch. The pair of armchairs were slightly different rusty shades, which made me wonder if they’d originally been the same color or if they started out fundamentally different and grew more similar with age. 

In my black robes, I felt out of place now among the warm colors. I was almost completely sure that Clem and I were the first Slytherins to ever step foot in this house. If the house were sentient, the Gryffindor pride that held up the precarious building might've literally spat Clem and I back out in the yard. 

“We weren’t sure where you would feel most comfortable,” Mrs. Weasley said to me as she pulled her hat off. “If you prefer, Y/N, you can room with Hermione and Ginny in Ginny’s room and Clem can room with Bill and Charlie. Or Clem can stay in the attic, though there’s not much room up there.”

Sleeping next to Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley for the whole holiday break? I’d never even had a conversation with either of them! All I knew about them had come from the rumor mill. Granger was the smartest student in her year and was known for being particular in all things. The youngest Weasley was a beast on the Quidditch pitch, and I’d seen Warrington after she’d hexed him. It’d taken him a whole week to stop blowing fire whenever he sneezed or coughed. 

And Clem? All by himself with the boy with an earring and the boy with substantial burn scars?

No.

No way.

“It would be best,” I said smoothly, “if Clem and I share a room.” I had already conceded with the Apparating arrangements. This, I would not bend on. “We’ll stay together in the attic.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Weasley blinked. “Well, the attic is a bit cramped for two.”

Behind his wife, Mr. Weasley shared a look with George, and I didn’t know the Weasley patriarch well enough to know what the look meant. “Dear,” Mr. Weasley said quietly, “they can stay in Percy’s room.”

Mrs. Weasley bit her lip. Was there something in that room she didn’t trust guests with? 

“Mum, it’s clean and we can easily fit another mattress up there,” George added. 

Still, his mother didn’t seem convinced, but Mr. Weasley sent another look at George. “George, why don’t you bring the bags up there?” His question felt performative, though I suspected not for my benefit. George, now with a destination, started up the stairs with our bags. 

“Go on,” I mumbled to Clem, who followed. 

Mrs. Weasley seemed to shake off whatever dark cloud had formed about the rooming arrangements. “Now, dear, do you and your brother have a favorite breakfast food?” 

I stared at Mrs. Weasley, sure I was mishearing her. “Pardon?” I managed to say.

“I normally make eggs, sausages, pancakes, and some bacon, but I would be happy to expand that if you or your brother prefer something else?”

She wanted me to make a choice. She was asking for my preference. What I wanted. 

I blinked at her like I’d been struck dumb. 

“Well,” Mrs. Weasley said after a few moments’ silence, “we’ll just do what we normally do, and if you have any requests, you can just let me know.” She beamed at me before ushering me up the stairs, the way that George and Clem had gone. “Percy’s room is just up on the second floor, right beside Fred and George’s room!”

I nearly tripped, catching myself with a hand on both walls of the narrow stairway. 

Right next door to George?

We’d gone from living on opposite sides of the castle to staying next door to each other? 

The sudden proximity made my stomach and heart flip-flap. 

As I reached the second floor landing, George was exiting the open door on the left, through which I could see Clem. George didn’t falter in his stride towards, what I assumed, was his own room but as our eyes met, he winked. 

Cheeks feeling warm, I ducked into Clem and I’s room and immediately shut the door. How would I ever survive two weeks being this close to George and his shameless behavior? Kissing or no, he was certainly…generous with his affection.

I would’ve worried about it some more, but my attention was caught by my little brother glancing around our room with furrowed eyebrows. 

An ache built in my chest. If all of this was overwhelming for me, I couldn’t imagine how it felt to him. 

“I know it’s not like what we’re used to,” I said, trying to placate the discomfort that was making him shrink his shoulders. “But it’s clean and warm. We’ll have great fun here.” I pulled Clem into my arms, and where he normally would have protested, he wrapped his arms around me in kind.

He must’ve been dejected if he was allowing me to hug him.

I pulled out of the embrace, bumping his chin affectionately. “Hey, it’ll be like an adventure. Much better than going to Monaco for the third time.”

“I miss Mom.” 

My heart dropped at the words mumbled into my sweater. Guilt swarmed my gut. Clem wasn’t upset with me. He could’ve been, even if he didn’t know that our parents had forbidden us from seeing them because of my actions. He still knew that I was the one who chose to bring us to the Burrow. I pressed my cheek to the top of his head. “I know.”

We stood like that, not moving even as the sun continued to set, throwing us into darkness. 

-

The absolute chaos of breakfast the next morning was nearly enough to snap my nerves. 

The two oldest Weasley boys—I still didn’t know which was which—were in a deep conversation with their father, seemingly blind and deaf to Fred and Ginny beside them attempting to catapult their own pancakes onto George’s plate. Granger had a book open and was pointing at something on the page for George’s benefit. Potter and Ron Weasley were mixing syrup, pumpkin juice, and ketchup into some mixture that I was convinced would result in the end product of regret. 

And right in the middle of it all was Clem, looking slightly less uncomfortable than yesterday, though still sticking out as he neatly and quietly ate the food that Mrs. Weasley plunked on his plate. None of the seats either beside or across from Clem were open. 

While I’d never willingly sat down with Granger, she was by far the most civilized part of the breakfast table, so I sat in between her and Ginny. I’d expected them to be wildly uninterested in me, since they never seemed to notice me at Hogwarts, but both watched me from either side as I cut into my pancakes. 

“At least dragons don’t lie,” I barely heard one of the older Weasley brothers—the one with the burn scars—say amidst the din of chaos. “You know where you stand with ‘em. Get too close and they’ll fry you, not curse you from behind.”

I let my eyes wander to the right over at Potter, hoping that I looked morbidly interested in the breakfast potion-making instead of the adult conversation.

“There’s just fear everywhere,” the Weasley boy continued. “One of the other dragon trainers didn’t show up for work one day. Everyone’s wondering if he just moved his whole family out of the country or if he joined You-Know-Who.”

“Or if You-Know-Who killed him,” the boy with the earring added. 

My shoulders tensed as I stared unseeingly at my plate. 

The Dark Lord. Why were they talking about the Dark Lord with Clem and I at the table? Was it a test? What would happen if I appeared too interested? I lowered my eyes to my pancakes and started eating with more enthusiasm. 

“The goblins are nervous too,” said the other brother with the earring, easier to hear due to his seat being closer to mine. “And they trust wizards even less than dragons do.”

Mr. Weasley let out a heavy sigh. “Until things change at the Ministry, there’s just not much else anyone can do.” 

“Boys,” Mrs. Weasley scolded. I looked up just in time for her to walk in with another pan of sausages, dropping them on whatever plates seemed to have room. “Don’t spoil breakfast with all your talk.”

Mr. Weasley gave his two oldest sons a significant look. While his wife communicated with her words, he seemed to prefer doing his talking with his face. He stood and faced the whole family. “I’m off to the office! You lot behave yourselves for your mother!” The last comment seemed to be aimed mostly at Fred, who chose that moment to launch a pancake that landed on Granger’s book instead of on George’s plate.

“Bye, Dad!” the Weasley children all hollered, with the harmonies of, “have a good day, Mr. Weasley” from Granger and, “see you later, Mr. Weasley” from Potter. 

“Bye, dear.” Mrs. Weasley kissed her husband and then waved her wand at the table. All the plates, platters, and silverware started floating towards the kitchen. The pancake on Granger’s book lifted and bounced after the kitchenware. 

Ginny leapt to her feet as the dishes all took flight. “I call Chaser!” The boys all shouted out various Quidditch positions, tromping towards the door and shoving each other out of the way with large grins. After rolling her eyes, Granger stood up to join them, her book tucked protectively under her arm. 

“Clem,” asked Fred, “are you coming?” All the Weasleys froze, turning back to look at Clem, still seated at his place at the table. Like me, he hadn’t moved. 

“You don’t have to wait to be excused,” I muttered to him, too softly for the others to hear.

My little brother rose uncertainly to his feet. “I…” He fiddled with his jet black robes. “I don’t have anything good for the outdoors.”

Oh.

I hadn’t even thought of that. Even if Clem had anything to wear that could function well on a broom, our mother would be furious if any of his expensive, tailored clothes needed replacing due to something like Quidditch.

Furious as she’d been once when I’d cut myself picking up broken pieces of glass and bled onto my Easter dress. 

Mrs. Weasley waved her hands affectionately. “We have more than enough hand-me-downs that should fit.” Like it was some code, the Weasley boys all scampered for the stairs. Presently, Clem had more options for clothing than the two of us had brought combined, of all shapes, sizes, colors, and thicknesses, laid on the kitchen table. He didn’t spend much time choosing, just grabbing the first things he liked and quickly changing and following the group outside. 

I sat at the table, clenching my hands as I watched him go. 

Last night, after he’d gone to sleep, I’d gone through every piece of clothing in Clem’s trunk and cast protective charms on them, down to the mismatched socks. But now he wore clothing from the Weasleys. With no charms. 

I’d always been rubbish at flying. I preferred to keep at least one foot on solid ground, for the good of my digestive system. As a result, I knew almost nothing about Quidditch. I’d only been to two Quidditch matches during my whole time at Hogwarts. It made no sense for me to join the group. 

But it would be so conspicuous for me to just watch the game in order to keep an eye on him. A dead giveaway that I didn’t trust the Weasleys. 

In the end, I only just managed to stay in my seat because George was with them. 

Whatever happened, George would hesitate long enough for Clem to run. 

Still, I ended up sitting in the window seat with Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes on my lap, anxiously glancing over at the woods where the group had gone. Occasionally, one of the players flew high enough for me to just barely see them above the tops of the trees. Once or twice, it was Clem I clapped eyes on, and my heart would start beating again. 

An agonizing half-hour passed this way. 

Then an hour. 

I came across the Aegis Flame in my book, a spell that surrounded the caster with magical flames that burnt any attackers. Was there a way that could be adapted to flames surrounding another person? Perhaps if the wand movement were reversed…

I looked up from the illustration, staring at the treeline, waiting for someone to fly above the trees to be visible.

But what felt like an eternity passed, and no one did. 

Were they still playing Quidditch? They could’ve been doing anything in those woods now. Anything at all. 

Standing from my seat, I wrapped my house scarf around my neck and walked out of the back door, eyes still fixed on the treeline. 

“I was just about to go inside to warm up.”

I jumped, and then saw George straightening up, one hand resting on the stone of the house. His shoelaces were untied, as if he truly was about to go inside the house. 

I gave him a small smile. “Having fun?”

“Loads.” George didn’t bother with taking his loosened shoes off, merely leaning against the house. Did he no longer want to go inside? “Are you?”

“I found a new spell to try sometime.” He didn’t know what the spell was, so I supposed there was no harm in telling him. 

George shook his head. “You’re as bad as Granger. It’s Christmas break, you don’t have to be studying.”

“Excellence doesn’t take breaks. I can’t keep people safe if I just–”

“Hey!”

The single word in my brother’s unmistakably strained voice sent my every mental faculty on high alert. Instantly, I broke into a run.

“Wait!” George easily caught up with me and kept pace. “Y/N, he’s fine!” He reached out to touch my arm, but I shook him off. I could hear more sounds ahead of me, whooshing and the occasional sound of an impact. 

“Get him, Charlie!” bellowed Ron Weasley’s voice, and I ran harder. I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have left him alone, shouldn’t have brought my kid brother to a house full of Gryffindors who hated us enough to hurt him. 

George started falling behind, his long legs seemingly no match for my adrenaline. “Y/N!” 

“Clem!” I shouted, pumping my legs harder. More sounds of impact grew audible as I drew closer to the sound, and I whipped my wand out of my pocket, ready to–

“Come on, Charlie!” I heard Fred bellow, just as I turned the last curve of the path to reach the clearing. The boy with the earring whizzed by on his broomstick, close enough that the wind buffeted me as I stopped and dumbly stared, trying to process the scene.

In the middle of the clearing, Potter and the boy with the burns were fighting over the Quaffle while Ron hovered in front of one side of the pitch’s hoops. As I watched, Potter got his hands on the Quaffle and tossed it to Ginny. 

She zoomed past on her broom, headed straight for Clem, who floated in front of the other homemade Quidditch hoops. His eyes were narrowed in concentration as she aimed and threw. 

The Quaffle soared towards the lowest hoop on the right, the arc perfectly executed to go straight through.

But Clem dove, and the Quaffle landed neatly in his hands. 

“Nice one, Clem!” the boy with the burns said while Ginny and Potter groaned. 

“See?” George stood beside me, breathing hard. “It’s all fine.”

“George!” Potter called, having noticed us standing at the edge of the clearing. “Come play again, we're uneven!” 

“In a minute!” George gently took my hand. “Clem's alright. Well, actually more than alright, look at him, he's not letting Ginny score without a fight, is he?” 

Without a word, I yanked my hand away, turned on my heel and stomped back the way I’d come. 

“Wait,” George said breathlessly from behind me. “I gotta catch my breath and tie my shoelaces if you're gonna take off again.”

I sped up. “He’s fine, like you said.” My clipped tone would’ve made me wince and apologize to George, if it weren’t for the banging of my heart after the scare. He’s fine. I told myself. He’s safe, he’s having fun.

George grabbed my shoulder, tight enough to make me stay in place while he cut in front of me. “I know you'd die if anything happened to Clem, and I'm very invested in the idea of you living.” His trademark easygoing smile seemed harried and frayed, and when I didn’t reply, it slipped altogether. “I wouldn’t have brought him here if I didn’t know he would be absolutely safe.” His soft tone held no accusation, but still my cheeks flamed. 

“You think I’m overly protective, huh?” I snapped at him. 

Instead of agreeing or denying, George simply looked at me. “Y/N,” he said softly, but I was in no mood for softness. 

I marched back towards the Burrow. “Go play with the others,” I tossed over my shoulder. “I'm going to go help your mother.”With the fear burning in my mind, I wasn't sure what words would come out of my mouth next if George continued to push. I didn't know if George tried to follow me or if he'd sensed that I needed to cool off, but either way, I made it back to the Burrow undisturbed and spent the rest of the day laying on Percy Weasley's old bed, staring up at the ceiling.

-

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-

Edmund was stuck in his mind. 

I knew Philip noticed it just as much as I had when he subtly slowed down until I was no longer riding beside Rona, but beside Edmund. 

Even after he answered my gentle question and after he’d started holding my hand, I could see his jaw working and his eyes searching. Edmund had always been a brooder, lingering on the worst case scenario and mourning things that hadn’t even gone wrong. I was alive, yet he seemed to be acting as though I were dead. I didn’t know what to do, especially not since we were still in the procession with his sisters riding only a few feet in front of us. So I just continued holding his hand. 

He was correct—hardly a minute had passed when I spotted a guard tower right in the corner of a bend in our path. The soldiers at the head of the procession stopped at the guard tower, parting to let the queens through so they would reach the castle first. 

As we went further, we passed red banners on each side of the path, showing Narnia’s emblem of a lion.

“Halt!”

The procession stopped, and I looked around, confused. I didn’t see a castle anywhere, just more tall trees surrounding the path at our front and our back. But before I could ask, Edmund dismounted my mare and immediately rounded both horses to help me slide off of Philip’s back.

My stiff legs buckled under the sudden weight of the rest of my body, but Edmund’s arms held me upright before I could even stumble. 

“You alright?” he asked quietly. Fear still lingered behind his eyes and in the grip of his hands and along the curve of his lips. 

I reached up to brush that curve, trying to coax him from whatever thoughts tortured him in that stellar mind of his. “Just as well as I could be.”

Looking thoroughly uncoaxed, he gave a short nod before guiding me towards his sisters with a hand at my elbow. “Ready?”

I studied him as I allowed him to lead me further up the path, taking in his tense shoulders. I wanted to see him relax and breathe and stop lingering in the past. “Is your pirate ship just round the bend?”

He didn’t look at me. “Yeah.” 

Not in a playful mood. 

I sidled closer to him as the queens chatted about the first thing they would do when they got back to the castle. “This is a big moment.”

Edmund finally looked at me, and his confusion was a relief. “What?”

“How many times did you tell me you wished you could show me your home?”

His face softened—only a fraction, but I’d always been good at fractions. “Hundreds of times.”

“And now we’re doing it.” I beamed at him. “It’s the perfect wedding gift.”

Callused fingers gently entwined with mine. “You’re only saying that because you haven’t gotten your ring yet.” Edmund’s smile turned proud. “I think you’ll really love it.” 

We started to round the bend, but I didn’t look away from my husband. “And for that reason, I already do.”

Edmund led me to a stop, his eyes lingering on my face. “Welcome,” he said quietly, “to Cair Paravel.”

With another smile, I finally looked forward.

I’d imagined Cair Paravel many times, more times than I’d forced Edmund to describe it to me. But his descriptive abilities were lacking. All he ever said was Cair Paravel was tall, white, and big. 

Cair Paravel, being on the tops of the cliffs, had a foundation higher than the land leading up to it, so its towers stretched higher into the heavens than Edmund ever led me to believe. The creamy stone walls—spotted with windows—curved to allow for balconies and parapets. The stone caught the light of the sunset, making the castle almost look orange in some places and pink in others. The whole structure was at least twice as large as Anvard’s castle. 

“This is your home?” I gasped as I followed Edmund up the path. Even if I were seeing the red stone of Archenland’s castle for the first time, I could never find it half as majestic as Cair Paravel.

“Better than a boat, right?” Edmund grinned, seeming boyishly excited. 

“Yeah,” I said faintly. I’d never been on a boat, but a boat sure couldn’t beat this. 

The queens continued through the outer ward into the courtyard, but Edmund stopped me just outside of the entryway by settling his hands loosely on my hips and swiveling me to face him. His face was more open now. Being back at his home clearly made him feel better. “Close your eyes.”

“You know, the last time I listened when told to do that, Corin stuck a toad down my dress.”

Edmund raised a teasing eyebrow. “Don’t you trust me?”

I tilted my head, brushing at an invisible spot on his tunic. “Hmmmm, I’m not sure.”

My husband didn’t blink, the mischief not leaving his face. “I promise you that I wouldn’t know where to find a toad even if I wanted one.” 

“What kind of prince doesn’t know where to find toads?” 

Edmund lifted his eyebrows. “The kind that knows where the mice live.”

I burst out laughing, and to my utter joy, so did he. The tension of his expression relaxed, and when he looked at me with his trademark smile, I couldn’t help smiling back. This was my Edmund. Or perhaps simply the best of my Edmund. 

Using his grip on my hips, he pulled me closer to him, my laughter fading as sudden nerves seized me at the emotion softening his eyes. He pressed his forehead to mine, gently bumping our noses as he whispered, “close them. It’ll be worth it, I promise.”

Incapable of denying him, I let my eyes fall closed. Hands laced with mine, gently pulling me forward. Hesitantly, I extended my foot, sliding it across the ground so as not to run into an obstacle. One slow step at a time, I went. Edmund’s grip did not change, but I could feel the weight of his attention on my face come and go. Each time I felt it, it was nearly impossible to keep my eyes shut.

The further we went, the quicker I moved. Soon, I lifted my feet from the ground and stepped normally. 

“A little bit further,” Edmund coaxed. What could he be showing me? I inhaled deeply, hoping for a clue, but I didn’t smell anything different. We were still outside. “Alright, stay here for just a moment.” Edmund’s hands left me. Then, I felt them rest on my hips again, but from behind. “Open,” he whispered, his mouth right beside the shell of my right ear. 

A shiver went down my spine, and I took a moment to get myself under control before obeying. 

Evenly spaced trees proudly sported apples of every shape, size, and shade of red. The light of dusk gave everything a soft glow, the shadows cast by the trees lazily growing on the grass. A few lacewings and butterflies floated around. I envied them, for getting to fly through the golden hour with the rays of sunshine streaming in like pure, untainted joy.

The apple orchard. 

“What do you think?” Edmund asked from behind me, the humor coloring his voice telling me he could guess, he just wanted to hear it from my own lips. 

“It’s exquisite,” I breathed. “I can’t believe you live here.”

Edmund’s hands, still on my waist, drew me backwards a step. I allowed him to guide me, my back pressing against his chest, my shoulder giving him the perfect place to rest his chin. “We live here.”

My heart stuttered, overwhelmed by the emotions that came rushing in. Excitement. Awe. Mourning. Anxiety. 

This. This was the true start of a new life. 

I turned my head, my forehead resting against Edmund’s cheek. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Edmund’s cheek moved as he spoke. “I knew you’d like it.” The smugness in his tone made me so strangely happy. He took pride in how well he knew me. How much he understood everything spoken to the point that he understood the unspoken. 

Suddenly, in that moment, I could no longer linger on the beauty in front of me. Or the stiffness of my body. Or anything else other than how unfair it all was. Edmund gave me so much. Just today, on our first day of a marriage he’d never truly wanted, he’d stood up to my father, introduced me to his subjects with pride, protected me, even brought me to the castle orchard first just because I might like it. 

What did I ever give him in return? 

The idea bothered me greatly. If Edmund tried so hard to make things equal for the two of us, why was he giving so much? That was hardly equal. 

I tried to think then of what I had to give him. I had no money for possessions even if Edmund were a material sort. I had no talent for creating things even if Edmund appreciated art.

My father thought I had something to give when he told me to charm Rabadash at the ball. Whatever that was, it felt like something big enough to protect back then. Now, it felt like something too small to even offer. 

Me. 

It was all I had.

But even if I had everything this life could offer, I would give it all to Edmund. 

The realization struck like lightning. 

My awareness skyrocketed. The air suddenly smelled sweet, and the warmth of our surroundings grew almost unbearable. I was hot everywhere, so hot that Edmund’s face against my forehead and his body at my back felt scorching. 

And I wanted the heat so badly, I’d let it burn me alive. 

Hands trembling with nerves, I lifted my forehead from Edmund’s face to press my lips to his cheek in a soft kiss. “Thank you,” I said, from the bottom of my heart. 

His heart. 

It was hard to catch my breath, but I fought to say more. “I can’t tell you what it means to see it.”

“I can’t tell you what it means to show it to you.” Funny, Edmund’s voice sounded exactly the same, yet the words might as well have been said in a different language. Then, Edmund pressed a quick kiss to my forehead. 

My heart giving a sudden twist, I unfurled myself from the embrace we’d created, urgently needing room to breathe. “I want to see everything! The main hall, and your library, and the beach, and the ballroom, and the throne room, and–”

“Alright,” Edmund said, chuckling as he tightened his grip on my hand to keep me from pulling away completely. “But first, we have to greet Peter.”

My mouth closed with a snap, a sudden curl of dread in my stomach. “The High King?” 

“Now you’re scared?” Edmund started tugging cheekily at my fingers. “The idea of saying hello to my brother is scarier than–” His face twisted as he abruptly stopped tugging at my hand.

“Scarier than you being a pirate?” I rushed to add. “Yes! Do you remember what happened the last time I saw him?”

Edmund’s face was still a bit stormy, but he huffed a little laugh. “You were fourteen, and spilling wine is not the worst thing that can happen to a person.”

“Tell that to my father.” Belatedly, I realized mentioning my father was not going to improve Edmund’s mood. “Either way, it was mortifying, and he never came to Archenland again after that.”

“He was fighting the giants the last time I came,” Edmund reminded me. “I promise you will be fine. Besides, you’ve handled worse things than my big brother.” Edmund’s face soured after those words, and I knew he was thinking of a certain run-in with a reptile. 

I sighed. “Trying to avoid talking about what happened today is not working.”

“No, it isn’t, is it?” Dropping my hand completely, he walked over to one of the apple trees, angrily yanking an apple off its branch. The bereaved branch swayed to a stop, a few leaves fluttering to the ground.

“Edmund, I’m sorry I scared you, but everything’s okay now, there’s no need–” My words died as Edmund whipped around, looking incredulous. 

“You’re sorry?” he echoed, his voice a pitch too high. “I should be apologizing, I didn’t protect you. I should’ve searched your bag, I should’ve known that Rabadash was going to try something, and you were almost killed because I wasn’t paying attention!”

My heart plummeted at his words. “That’s why you’re upset? Because you didn’t magically know that there was a snake in my saddlebag?”

“I should have known!” Edmund exploded. “You’re my wife, it’s my job to protect you, it’s the promise I made to you yesterday on our wedding day, and I’ve already broken it!” 

I drew nearer to Edmund, trying to take his hands, but he pulled them out of my reach. “It’s not your fault. It is the fault of the person who put that snake in my bag, and we both know who that was, and it wasn’t you.”

“But I knew he wasn’t finished, I should’ve known he would try to kill you before you could ever–”

“Edmund?” called a deep and kind-sounding voice. 

I could almost identify the very second Edmund reverted from Edmund my husband to King Edmund the Just. “Over here!” he replied, only sounding slightly tense. I had barely enough time to rearrange my face into a pleasant smile before High King Peter came into sight. 

“There are the lovebirds!” he said merrily. 

I curtsied as he came closer, and High King Peter made a face quite like Corin used to on bath day. “No need for that, please.” He grinned. “You are family now, are you not?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The king’s grin turned to a grimace. “Please, I’m begging you not to call me that.”

“Peter? Edmund?” called one of the queens; I couldn’t tell which, they sounded so alike.

“Over here, Sue!” Peter called.

“You’ll never guess what happened on our way over here,” the voice continued, carrying through the trees and straight to Edmund’s heart, judging by the look on his face. “We were stopped to get some water by the stream, and–” Queen Susan appeared on the other side of the trees, with Queen Lucy right behind her, and Queen Susan’s voice trailed off as she noticed Edmund and I. 

“And we saw the most beautiful flowers!” Queen Lucy finished in a tone too bright even for her. 

Edmund rolled his eyes, and Peter looked between his siblings, clearly trying to understand what was going on. 

Queen Susan cleared her throat. “We were thinking it might be nice to take Y/N through a tour of the castle. After all, someone has to show her around.”

“That’s a wonderful idea, I’d love to see it all!” I looked at Edmund, but he and Peter were staring at each other, intent written all over their faces. I glanced at the girls, who looked nervous. I withheld a sigh. “I think Queen Susan and Queen Lucy will be excellent tour guides.”

That seemed to break the boys out of their silent conversation. Edmund looked away, but Peter met my eyes with warmth. “Yes, and while you do that, Edmund will catch me up on the new developments.”

Developments. A delicate word to use instead of ‘rushed marriage’ or ‘new wife’ or ‘assassination attempt’. 

Peter turned to his sisters. “The Rook Suite has been prepared for the newlyweds, I trust the two of you can show her?”

“Leave it to us!” Each sister taking one of my arms, they escorted me in the direction Peter had indicated.

I glanced over my shoulder at Edmund, but he was already speaking to Peter in a low tone.

“The west wing has the best views of the peninsula.” Lucy started telling me. “It looks like nothing but trees for miles!”

“Lovely,” I replied, trying to sound enthusiastic. 

-

The two kings sat in the private library, each holding a glass of mulled cider in their hands. Peter’s was nearly full, and Edmund was on his second helping.

“Well,” Peter said after a moment of silence following Edmund’s long-winded explanation. “It makes more sense as to how you came back with a wife when you were only intending to advise King Loon on the Calormen situation.”

“Yeah.” Edmund took another sip, the burning sensation in his throat distracting him from the tightness in his chest. “I imagine that must’ve been a shock.”

“I’ll say!” Peter shook his head, looking a bit windswept. “Last we talked about marriage, you said it was a trap and swore only the most besotted fools fall for it. Clearly you don’t hold that sentiment anymore.” He pointed at Edmund. “Or if you do, we need to discuss your self-esteem.”

Ordinarily, Edmund might’ve laughed, but he didn’t feel like laughing. “It was to save her.” Marriage still felt like a trap, but now he wasn’t sure who had trapped whom. 

Peter lifted his chin slightly, and Edmund made a great effort not to squirm under the scrutiny. “And is that really all it is?”

“All what is?” 

“Is it all just some need to be a knight in shining armor? You know, save the damsel in distress? Or is it the fact that Y/N was the damsel?”

If it were anyone else who knew the truth about Edmund’s marriage and was asking him this question, Edmund might have denied it. But this was Peter. There was a reason Edmund was confiding the whole plan to his brother. “We were pressed for time. If she meant less to me…perhaps I would’ve thought harder to come up with an alternative solution.”

Peter started tapping the edge of his glass against his jaw thoughtfully. “And you’re convinced that Rabadash was unhappy enough with the arrangement to put that snake in her saddlebag?”

“The snake bit the leather, Peter. It didn’t just happen to crawl in looking for somewhere to hide, it was put there. And I packed her saddlebag myself when we were leaving Anvard, so no one else would've had an excuse to touch it.” Her saddlebag was one of the multiple things he'd packed in the rush to leave Y/N's father behind. 

“And you didn’t recognize the snake?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it, not in Narnia or Archenland.” Edmund sent his brother a significant look. “It was Rabadash, it had to have been.”

“I mean…it’s a bit late to ask this, but are you sure Rabadash was threatening her?”

Edmund scowled. “It wasn’t the type of thing one could misunderstand. He explicitly told me he had a spy in our court.”

“Which is distressing,” Peter allowed, “but have you considered the possibility that it’s unfounded?”

A short laugh fell from Edmund’s lips, betraying his exhaustion. “I’ve considered nearly every possibility.” He’d had a lot of time to think already in the last few days. 

“Likely all the ones I could think of,” Peter agreed with a sigh. “So what would you have us do? To keep her safe?” 

“Counter intelligence. We must find this spy. We focus on anyone in the court who shows her too much attention, anyone with associations with Calormen, anyone sneaking out of the castle or sending secret correspondence.” 

“That’s not much to go on.”

“I know.” Edmund set his glass down to scrub at his face. If only he weren’t so tired, he would be able to think better!

“And are you going to worry yourself to death about your wife in the meantime?” Peter asked. 

Edmund huffed. He didn’t think anyone had ever literally worried themselves to death.

“The two of you were arguing in the orchard,” Peter said gently.

Edmund felt his cheeks warm. “You heard that?”

“Even if I hadn’t, the strain is clear. I’m your brother, I know what you look like when you’re scared.”

“Wouldn’t you be?” Edmund snapped. 

Peter’s face fell. “You were at the meeting with the White Witch’s army outside of her castle a year and a half ago, you saw me when I was terrified of losing my love.”

Edmund swallowed hard. He did know, and he had never expected to be in a similar situation.

“Look,” Peter sat forward, “we will do all we can, I swear. But you have to let that be enough.”

Letting out a long breath, Edmund gave a faint nod. 

“I’m assuming you don’t want our council to know that you married Y/N because of an agreement and not because you were just overcome with love.”

“They don’t need to know,” Edmund replied. “The outcome is the same either way. I don’t want anyone treating Y/N with anything less than the respect my wife deserves.”

“And you’ve told the girls not to say anything tomorrow either?”

Heat rose to Edmund’s cheeks. “They don’t know.”

Peter’s face slackened in shock, and it was deserved. The siblings were very intentional with their honesty; it was the only way to manage having four monarchs of one country. A secret of this gravity being kept from them was no small thing. “You didn’t tell them?”

"Susan was the one being courted by Rabadash. You remember how guilty she felt when Rabadash attacked Archenland, imagine how she'd feel about this."

"And you don't want to tell Lucy because she tells Susan everything." 

Edmund sat up in his armchair. “She’s their new sister regardless of how and why the marriage happened.”

Peter blew out his lips. “You do realize you’ll have to tell them eventually.”

“I know. But let’s deal with one thing at a time.”

“Very well.” Peter stood. “If we’re to be alert for the council meeting tomorrow, it’s time for both of us to get some sleep.” He clapped his hand on Edmund’s shoulder and left him to his thoughts.

Edmund did not get up for a long while. He merely sat in his chair, stared at the fire, took an occasional sip of his drink, and tried desperately not to think about the fears that were threatening to crush him. When his exhaustion finally outweighed his guilt, he put his glass down and went to the west wing. 

Only one candle was burning in the room, the blankets of the bed pulled all the way over Y/N. Taking off his shoes and changing into his sleep breeches and a thin tunic, he rounded the bed to sit on his side.

He pulled the covers up and turned to look at Y/N. Her head was tilted slightly upwards on the pillow, allowing him to just barely see her scar in the candlelight. He lifted a hand to delicately trace the line starting at her throat and reaching her chin. But when he reached her chin, instead of pulling away, he traced the curve of her cheek.

Y/N stirred, her eyes fluttering open.

Edmund pulled his hand away, feeling ashamed for disturbing her when she looked so peaceful. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Instead of assuaging his fears or simply falling back asleep, she blinked, growing more and more alert. 

Well, if she was awake anyways…“How was your tour with the girls?”

“Good.” Her voice was slightly hoarse, and for some reason, it sent heat through Edmund’s stomach. “They’re wonderful and so sweet.”

“But?” Edmund said, lightly running his fingers down her arm to indulge his confusing yet almost natural need to touch her.

“But I would’ve rather taken the tour with you.”

Unable to meet her eyes, he looked down at her arm and continued tracing invisible lines into her skin. “We can explore together tomorrow before the council meeting.”

“How was your talk with Peter?” 

“I told him everything.”

Y/N smiled softly. “I’m glad.”

Some point of tension in his chest eased, something Edmund hadn’t realized he was carrying. “You are?”

“Yes. It’s too big of a burden for you to carry alone.”

Edmund didn’t reply to that, settling down on his own pillow.

“Edmund?” Y/N said gently. 

“Yeah?” he answered, staring up at the canopy of their new bed. 

“Don’t let Rabadash win.”

“I won’t, I swear.” His aggravation bled into the words like ink, sealing his promise for all time.

“No.” Y/N’s hand pressed against his shoulder, and Edmund reluctantly met her eyes. “Don’t let him come between us. Because all he wants is for us to be miserable.”

Edmund gazed at her, at his perceptive, beautiful, sleepy wife. “I’m not miserable.” The skepticism on her face made him laugh. “I promise.”

And as she finally accepted that and closed her eyes to drift off to sleep again, Edmund smiled faintly up at the ceiling.

-

Despite all his worries, no, he was not miserable. 

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Perhaps the catastrophe of breakfast with my family. Or maybe he was dreaming about returning home. Or…was he worried about returning? It would be natural to be so; having an unexpected wife would without a doubt disrupt parts of a routine. Or what if he was planning things for our future, both near and distant? 

The curiosity was a strangely painful pang in my chest. Why did I want so badly to know the thoughts in his mind? And why did it stupidly hurt to not know? 

I didn’t let myself look at Edmund after that, forcing myself to pay attention to the Queens. 

Slowly the terrain started sloping upwards and grew rockier. My mare slowed down, her hooves brushing the occasional rock as her footing grew less stable. The land on either side rose higher, making a mountain pass for us to travel through. The path grew narrower and narrower as we twisted this way and that on the walkways. At one point, my mare stumbled and moved closer to Philip. 

Edmund seemed immune to the changing scenery, not looking around at all. He’d taken this path every one of the countless times he’d visited my home. He was as familiar with this place as he was with my mother’s gardens or my drawing room. 

What a strange thought. 

A shout rose from the front of the procession, making me jump, glancing about for any hint of danger. 

“All is well.” Edmund was looking at me now, seemingly broken from his thoughtful trance again. “They’re just telling us that we’re about to cross the border.”

The border.

In a few steps, I was about to enter Narnia. Narnia had only ever been a concept to me, some far off place that housed fantastical creatures, magic, and…and Edmund. I was gaining so many new things…and letting go of the old. My customs. My land. My people. 

I glanced over my shoulder at the way we’d come. I hadn’t realized we’d climbed so high. Some of the trees below looked more like 

We were much too far away to see the castle, yet not catching sight of the red stone of my home made my chest feel tight somehow. 

Suddenly, I directed my mare off to the side and out of the procession. The trees that weren’t at all important to me before now made me ache. Lump in my throat, I surveyed it, wishing my eyes were strong enough to catch one last glimpse of something familiar. 

“Y/N?” I heard Queen Susan ask, but I didn’t look away from Archenland. 

How long would it be before I once again saw this? Before I was again in the country of my birth? From the heaviness in me, I felt as though I would never see it again. 

The sound of hooves against stone made me look to see Philip coming to stand just beside my mare, Edmund close enough to lay a gentle touch on my knee. “Are you alright?”

“It all looks so…small.”

A warm hand found mine, squeezing just slightly. I squeezed back, not looking away from the scene that represented so much more than it seemed. 

“It’s okay to feel sad.” Edmund’s words were tense, not at all in line with the comfort I knew he was trying to impart. A glance at his face revealed clear nerves. Was he afraid I was doubting our plan?

“I want to be in Narnia with you,” I told him, not wanting him to have a single shred of doubt on that subject. “It’s just…it’s all I’ve ever known. I’ve only ever been a princess of Archenland and now…” I looked away, but this time in the direction that the procession was walking. The direction of my future. 

“You’re so brave.” 

“Brave?” I snorted. Brave was a word meant for warriors, not for princesses moving from one cushy castle to another.

“Yes, brave. I’m not sure I would be able to trust anyone the way you’re trusting me.” The words hung in the air, and Edmund shifted in his position on Philip’s back. “For all you know, I could be a pirate who hired all these mercenaries to charm you away from the only home you’ve ever known.”

I laughed at the sudden image in my mind of Edmund wearing a hat with feathers and a scraggly beard. They did not suit him. “You know, you’re right. Cair Paravel might not even exist.”

“No, it exists, it’s just the name of my ship.”

“Oh, I see.” I grinned at Edmund. “You’re just a lonely captain who wanted company, and who is better company than a princess?”

“Apparently not talking horses,” Philip grumbled. 

Edmund laughed loudly, drawing the attention of a few more Narnian soldiers. Edmund had a nice face, but I liked the way it simultaneously tightened his cheeks and loosened his brows when he laughed. Once the laughter had finished, for a swift moment, Edmund’s face would settle into a content smile before the mirth disappeared from his face. If one blinked, they’d miss that flash of a smile, and it was not a sight to be missed. “I do mean it,” Edmund said softly and seriously. “I’ve never known someone as strong as you.”

A strange pang shot through my chest, feeling extraordinarily like fear. How silly. I wasn’t—couldn’t be—afraid of my husband. “Let’s go,” I whispered, unable to muster more volume. Edmund gestured in front of him, allowing me to direct my mare back onto the path, Philip joining beside me. 

And so I crossed the border into my new home country, with my new husband just beside me. 

-

Once we’d come down on the other side of the mountains, dirt once again instead of stone, the procession stopped beside a small stream. The animals all bent to take a drink while the fauns filled canteens for themselves, the centaurs, and the queens. 

Rona was scanning our surroundings, looking not at all pleased with what she saw. She never understood how passionate I was about seeing Narnia one day, but how could she, if she’d never heard all of Edmund’s stories?

Edmund brought two canteens over to where I was standing. “Care to stretch your legs?”

I accepted both the canteen and the offer. 

The trees were large and lovely, granting us shade from the sun but allowing the light through so that everything appeared golden. A butterfly flew past while I heard a frog croak interrupt the chirping of the crickets.

Edmund led me upriver, occasionally stopping to hold his hand out to help me over a fallen tree and a boulder. He looked contented, no sign of the cloudy thoughts that he’d been harboring all day.

We’d walked a few minutes from the rest of the procession when Edmund stopped and pulled me into his side. My breath got lost on its way to my lungs as I stared stupidly up into his face…which…wasn’t looking…at me. 

I followed his gaze and let out a gasp.

Naiads. 

The river nymphs, human-like creatures made up entirely of water, little ripples and ridges forming the features of their faces and long flowing hair. There were five of them beside a long, flat riffle. Little splashes sounded as the stream tripped over rocks that protruded from the water, adding to the melody of their bubbling voices and laughter. 

Then, as I watched, the bark of the birch tree nearest the water seemed to melt off the trunk, pooling to form a little girl with leaf green skin and an ashy white dress streaked with black. 

A young dryad.

Two more dryads left their trees, following the littlest one towards the naiads. 

Edmund’s hand, resting on my side, gave a quick squeeze before he left me behind, striding towards the spirits. “Hello!”

The naiads and dryads all turned to look and then leapt to their feet. “Your majesty!” the biggest naiad called in her rushing voice, racing up to him with glee written all over her face and the others not far behind. 

They recognized him without his crown?

I’d once walked among my own people without an escort or my nicest gown, and not one of them had even known that I was royalty. Yet these spirits seemed to know Edmund immediately without any hints. 

“How are the woods faring?” Edmund asked them. I could only see his back, not his face, but I immediately noticed the worry in his voice. “Are the dryads still well?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the greenest dryad replied, her voice like the clicking of beetle wings. “There have been no more signs of the Witch’s sickness.” 

A sickness of the trees? Edmund hadn’t ever mentioned anything like that. If it were some great secret, he wouldn’t be discussing it out in the open like this. So why hadn’t he ever told me? I waited for him to ask another question that would give me more insight, but instead, Edmund turned to hold out his hand towards me. “Ladies, may I introduce Princess Y/N of Archenland,” he grinned at me, “my wife?”

The spirits all gasped, one even covering her mouth with her green fingers. “You’ve married?” she gasped. 

“She’s so beautiful!” said another.

“Oh, Your Majesty, you look so happy!”

I felt my cheeks warm furiously, wishing I could reproach Edmund for making me a spectacle. I must’ve looked frightful after riding for so long. I wasn’t even in a proper dress, still in my riding habit. I raised a hand to my hair self-consciously.

Edmund flexed his fingers, silently asking for my hand. I shyly put it in his, and he pulled me in closer. 

“Where’s your crown?” the littlest dryad asked. 

The heat grew furiously. I hadn’t ever been embarrassed about a lack of a crown before, but standing in front of what were technically my new subjects, I felt like I’d failed to uphold a standard. “I left it behind,” I said, trying to remember that I hadn’t wanted it. “It wasn’t really mine.”

“Well, we can fix that!” Before I could understand their meaning, the nymphs and dryads scattered. The nymphs waded back into their river, bending over the surface of the water, while the dryads ran among the trees. Were they looking for a crown? Was this common in Narnia, for crowns to be lying around? Narnia was the land of the impossible.

Before long, they regathered, holding up what they’d found. Some white blooms, a handful of twigs with some leaves, a few colorful fish scales, and a singular, white pearl. They moved their hands in strange patterns, beyond simply fitting the pieces together. No, they seemed to be changing their acquisitions, shifting their shape as it all came together in a circle. 

The twigs bent together, joining in a continuous line with the abundant leaves and white flowers to form a garland. Then, the colorful scales were tucked in here and there to catch the light of the sun and make the whole garland sparkle. Then, the front of the beautiful piece curved slightly upwards to show off the pearl.

I was stunned long before the spirits stopped moving their hands and stood back with satisfaction on their faces.

The smallest dryad came closer. She did not move with the jerking, unbalanced strides of a human child—she glided forward, holding out the beautiful, freshly-made crown. 

“For me?” I asked, a bit breathless. 

The nymphs and dryads laughed their rustling, tinkling laughs. “Of course, Your Highness!” one of the nymphs said. “We can’t let our princess walk around without the honor she is due!”

Our princess.

Fighting against the sudden moisture in my eyes, I bent to allow the young dryad to place it gently on my head. The weight of the crown did not feel heavy atop my hair, yet I swore I felt strange tingling in my arms at the sensation of such a remarkable creation. However beautiful it was, it couldn’t replace metal and jewels, yet its presence meant more to me than any other beautiful thing in the world. 

“Ladies, you’ve outdone yourselves,” Edmund said, rescuing me from my lack of words. “You made a crown worthy of my wife.”

The dryads and nymphs looked delighted by his words, and I was thankful that he’d thanked them because words had thoroughly deserted me. 

“We must return to our party,” Edmund told them. “We’re hoping to arrive at Cair Paravel before sunset.”

“Farewll!” the tallest nymph cried, and they all curtsied once more before scattering back to their homes. 

As we returned to the horses, I waited until Edmund was busy loading up Philip’s lone saddlebag to wipe away the tear that was threatening to fall. They’d made a crown for me. I gazed down at it, stupified. It couldn’t have been given because of requirement or manipulation, for what could they possibly need from me that their four monarchs wouldn’t or couldn’t do for them? It could’ve been for Edmund’s benefit, but the dryads and nymphs seemed so genuinely pleased to gift it to me. 

Were they so genuinely pleased to have me as their new princess?

“Y/N?” Edmund asked, hovering uncertainly behind me. The leaves above us cast strange shadows on his concerned face, and the shadows which lay across his forehead and eyes suited him so well, I found that a smile was not at all hard to conjure.

“Helping me up?” I asked.

“In a moment.” Edmund moved closer, the pattern of the shadows shifting to allow a patch of sunlight to fall on his dark hair. “I hope I didn’t offend you by introducing you.”

“You’re actually worried about that?” I asked, and the grim set of his mouth told me all I needed to know. Shaking my head, I reached for his hand and held it tighter than the crown in my other hand. “I could never be offended by you calling me your wife.”

“You promised honesty,” he murmured, and my heart lurched, almost jerking my hand away from his. Why had the words of comfort left my mouth so easily without me even thinking of the truth of them? And why was it so difficult to speak honestly while I held his hand?

Pinching his signet ring between my thumb and forefinger, I twisted it around, stalling while I tried to calm my nerves. How much bigger his fingers were than mine. And how strange that he wore two rings now, one for his country and one for me. “You didn’t do anything wrong, it just…I wasn’t expecting it.”

His fingers tensed, as if his muscles were locking up with regret. “I never want you to be uncomfortable.”

I laughed in spite of myself. “I’m a living being, Edmund, I’m bound to be uncomfortable sometimes. But I trust you. I know that even if you do make me uncomfortable, you only want what’s best for me, just like I do for you.”

“Always.” A bit of the tension eased from his face, like admitting his good intentions helped him relax. “I’m sorr–”

I pulled my hand away from his to gently place it over his lips. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

He let out a long breath, the warm air tickling my fingertips. His fingers wrapped lightly around my wrist to move my fingers from his mouth to his chin. “You’ll tell me if I ever have anything to apologize for, right?”

“As long as you do too,” I replied, rubbing gentle strokes on his skin. 

Edmund gave a slight nod, his eyelids fluttering halfway shut as he looked down at my arm. “Marriage is weird,” he seemed to tell my skin. 

“The weirdest thing we’ve ever done,” I agreed. “But we've only been married for a day. We have time to get used to it.” Belatedly, I realized that referencing the longevity of our arrangement likely wouldn't comfort someone who had never wanted to get married in the first place. 

But instead of straining his smile, my words seemed to encourage it. He lowered his voice, leaning in conspiratorially. “I wouldn't want to get used to it with anyone else.” 

My heart fluttered, and just for a moment, I wondered what he would do if I leaned in to kiss him. The others could see us and wouldn’t be surprised to see a husband and wife being affectionate. Perhaps they even expected it. Really, a kiss would be a strategic thing to do. 

Edmund gazed at me, his eyes betraying nothing of the activity of his mind. Oh, but how I ached to know his thoughts!

“Edmund!” Queen Lucy said. “Come see these beautiful blue flowers!” 

Edmund rolled his eyes, but there was affection in the gesture. “Coming!” Lifting my hand, he pressed his lips to it. “I'll be right back.” He jogged away towards his younger sister. 

I was glad just then that my mare was not a talking animal, for I could not imagine what cheeky thing a talking beast might say if they'd overheard our conversation and observed the way I grinned at the grass. How was it that a simple and even uncomfortable conversation with Edmund brought me even more joy than the crown in my hand?

I loosened the clasp of my saddlebag. I wanted to keep such a beautiful thing safe until I once more had a trunk or wardrobe to keep it safe in. Lowering the crown into my bag, I shifted the objects inside to make room. I was just moving my handheld mirror over when something shifted beside my fingers, something sandpaper rough. Confused, I pulled the lip of the saddlebag open further to let more daylight in as I peered inside. 

I'd barely had time to think, I didn't pack any rope, when two sharp points pierced my wrist. 

The jolt of pain was so unexpected that a scream fell from my lips and I jerked away. Balance lost, I fell hard onto the forest ground. 

“Y/N!” I heard distantly as I stared down at the dull brown snake with its jaws clamped down on my skin. As if seeing it had triggered something, the skin of my forearm started to prickle.

“Get away!” Large hands with a silver signet ring surrounded the snake, wrenching the jaws open to release me.

Gripping the skin which was now burning, I watched dumbly as the snake slipped from Edmund’s hands and started slithering through the grass. 

Towards my mare. 

The grey creature swung her large head over to look at me, catching sight of the snake. With an alarmed whinney, her front legs lifted from the ground. 

Strong hands hooked under my arms, dragging me away from the horse as she continued to rear and stomp.

The snake drew nearer to the trees, but not fast enough. A faun’s hoof came down on its body and his sword found its place in the snake’s neck. The long body gave a few jerking movements before finally laying still. 

I stared down at my arm, two dark red spots on my skin. 

Blood, I thought dumbly to myself. 

And then my view was tipped up to Edmund, his wandering hands stroking my cheeks as he guided me to look at his panic-stricken face. 

“Stay as still as you can!” Queen Susan’s face appeared over Edmund’s shoulder. It was an odd command, but her evident alarm made me obey. “The venom will spread quicker if your heart rate is higher.”

The venom. That was the burning which was now spreading past my elbow. 

Edmund’s hands lowered me to the grass, and I stared up at the branches obstructing the blue sky. Numbly, I wondered if this would be the last sight I would ever see, which almost made me laugh when both Edmund and his older sister’s faces appeared as they bent over me.

“Are you in pain?” Queen Susan asked. 

“Yes,” I whispered, morbidly captivated by the anxiety in Edmund’s face. Why did it feel like a gryphon was standing on my chest, digging its sharp claws into my skin?

“Lucy, get your cordial!” Queen Susan cried, twisting her head around. 

Rona’s face appeared, upside-down since she stood by my hair. “My lady, do you feel pain anywhere other than your arm?”

“It's…” I gasped, my tongue feeling like stone. “It’s getting hard to breathe.”

Rona's gaze migrated to where I supposed my arm was. “It drew blood,” she said quietly. “The venom is in the bloodstream.” 

“Lucy!” Queen Susan shouted louder. 

“Coming!” 

Edmund’s hand braced beside my head, and he shifted so that his face was all I could see, only one hand touching my face. “Keep breathing,” he croaked, the first words I’d heard him speak. “Lucy’s cordial will fix it, she’ll make it better.”

His face was blurring, and I blinked hard, trying to bring back the clarity of his brown eyes. It was hard to focus as the pain spread into my shoulder. “It burns, Edmund,” I moaned. 

The hand pressed harder into my cheek. “I know, just stay still, okay?” With the fear lacing his words, I would’ve done anything he asked. Then, the blob that I knew to be my husband’s face shifted, making way for a new blob. I would’ve protested, but his touch only slid down to my hip, like he knew I needed to know he was there. 

“Hold out your tongue,” Queen Lucy said gently, her fingers on my chin to coax my mouth open. I did so, and a drop of what tasted like strawberries bloomed. “Swallow it.” 

I did so. 

“Did you give it to her soon enough?” Edmund asked. 

“Most certainly,” Queen Lucy replied, though both her touch and his lingered. “It has brought people back from the brink of death.” 

I blinked, still feeling the burning and still unable to see the details of Queen Lucy’s face. Deep dismay struck me. Was this it? Would it all end here?

“How do you feel?” I could almost feel Edmund’s fear like a reverberation through my body. 

“I…I don't know,” I gasped. “I think I'm in shock.” 

His touch on my hip grew firmer, and I clung to his arm like an anchor, the fabric of his sleeve pulling taut underneath my frantic grip. “How long must we wait until we know she’s alright?”

“I've never seen a snake like that,” Queen Lucy said, the blob of her face moving away until I could once again see fuzzy patches of the blue sky. “I–I have no idea how long until the danger has passed.”

“If Her Highness was in such pain so quickly, she might’ve been dead in a minute or two,” my lady-in-waiting suggested. 

“It's been longer than that,” Queen Susan said. 

Silence followed, and I moved my head to try and see what looks they were exchanging, but it was no use. I could barely tell which blob was Queen Susan and which was Queen Lucy.

Then, the burning receded. 

I blinked, my vision clearing to let Edmund’s freckles come back into focus, a sight I never wanted to take for granted again. I loosened my grip on his arm. “Can you help me up?”

Wordlessly, Edmund's arm slid across my back, propping me upright. 

Testing my eyes, I let them pass over Philip, who stood alongside my mare, soothingly pressing his head against hers. Then the sisters, clutching each other as Queen Lucy held a little glass bottle with gold accents to her chest. Then I saw a pale-faced Rona beside the unmoving snake and the dark blood leaking out onto the grass around it. 

Blindly, I pressed myself further into Edmund’s hold, tearing my eyes away from the minimized threat and shutting them tight. Edmund’s arms tightened around me, his touch bracing against my body. 

“I think the danger has passed,” Queen Lucy declared, and sighs of relief sounded from all over the clearing. Distantly, I registered that the whole entourage had likely seen the whole incident, which made me pull away from Edmund. The queen knelt beside us. “May I see your arm?” I held it out to her.

She studied the marks and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe away the half-congealed blood. “It doesn’t even look like the wound will scar,” she muttered. 

“Where did the snake come from?” Edmund’s voice was calmer now, his composure emphasized by the way he sought the facts of the situation from me. 

“I don't know, I just opened up my saddlebag and it came out at me.” Seeing movement out of the corner of my eye, I twisted to see Rona whisking over to my mare and carefully unfastening the leather pouch. She brought it over, opening it and pulling out my mirror so we could all peer inside. 

Bite marks littered the leather, dark stains of venom lining each bite.

“It must've been in there for hours,” Queen Susan breathed. “Before we even left the castle.” 

I felt a shudder course through Edmund’s body, but before I could comfort him, he got to his feet. “We must check all the luggage, to make sure there are no other threats.”

The rest of the procession all burst into action, opening saddlebags and chests and carefully searching the contents. Edmund flitted between them all, giving everything a second look with such intensity, he seemed to be daring another sign of danger to emerge. 

I pressed my hands into the grass to push myself onto my feet and then paused. A crumpled blue flower lay on the grass beside me, its long stem soft and drooping, like it mourned the petals that were now crushed. 

I looked up at Edmund, who was looking over a faun’s shoulder as the faun went through one of my chests full of dresses. Carefully, I picked up the creased flower as I got up.

Rona had reattached my saddlebag to my mare with great difficulty—the poor thing was still skittish. I went to her and reached out to rub her grey nose. Her head bucked backwards, away from my touch. 

“She’s too skittish.” I turned just in time to see Edmund reach out for my mare’s bridle with one hand and press against my side with the other, pushing me away from her. 

“Your Majesty!” a centaur said. “Everything’s been checked, nothing is amiss.”

Edmund looked down at the grass, a muscle in his jaw flexing. Queen Susan put a hand on his back, glancing around the woods around us with fear. “We should get moving.”

For a moment, Edmund didn’t respond, still glaring at the soft green sod. Then, he glanced up at the centaur and gave a nod.

“Prepare to move forward!” the centaur called to the group. 

I moved towards my mare, but Edmund stepped in front of her, blocking the saddle. “I don’t want you riding a nervous horse the rest of the way,” he said shortly. 

“She’s not–”

“I’m not taking any chances,” Edmund interrupted. 

Philip stepped forward. “Her Highness may ride on me for the remainder of the journey.”

“Thank you, Philip.” 

Before I could even decide to protest, Edmund wordlessly hoisted me up into Philip’s saddle, quickly fitting my feet into the stirrups. I watched as he patted down my mare, letting her smell him, and then mounted her. 

The procession continued, Philip moving at a steady pace beneath me. Instead of riding beside me, Edmund directed my mare to follow Philip, staying behind me and out of my sight. I rubbed my arm at the site of the snakebite, feeling the uninterrupted smoothness of my skin. Nothing was amiss. Yet, somehow, the woods seemed less bright than they had when we’d stopped. And when I looked down at the blue flower in my hand, it was already starting to wither.

-

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@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

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Her mind flashed to Frenzy’s mouth, stretched impossibly until it tore, and shuddered.

A hand caught the back of her neck, gently enough. Eloise still jumped. Artisan made a soothing sound. “You can do this.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

She was already shaking her head, murmuring something incoherent and horrified.

“Eloise.” 

His voice, calm as it was, snatched up her attention like the crack of a whip. She stared up at him in what she could only imagine was some terrible parody of a doe-eyed fawn bathed in blinding headlights.

Artisan’s hand rose from her neck to cup the side of her jaw. Given what those hands could do, it shouldn’t have been so grounding; so reassuring. 

He held her gaze. “You’re going to get us past the guns alive. And I’m going to protect you. Hey-” A gentle stroke of the cheek dragged her wandering eyes back up to his. Haunting. Beautiful. Eyes of endless depths she’d caught watching her read to him on many occasions. “You can do this. Take a deep breath.”

Eloise heaved in a clumsy breath that gusted out of her in the same second. Artisan’s lips twitched upward.

“Slowly. Match me.” Still cradling her cheek, Artisan demonstrated an exaggerated deep breath, then another. Eloise copied him as best as she could manage until she felt a little lighter. “Good.”

Eloise swallowed. “What if my power fails?”

“It won’t.” Artisan took a step closer, and it stole her breath all over again. “Close your eyes.”

Eloise gawked. “Wh-”

“Eloise.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, hugging her arms around her torso.

When he spoke again, his voice was a quiet thing, low and soft yet resonant still with all the power of, well, one of the greatest supervillains alive.

“When you are reading a book,” he said, “everything else around you slips away. You lose yourself in a world of inked pages, and nothing else exists. I’ve watched you pore over chapter after chapter, reading aloud on autopilot. Sometimes you forget that I am even in the room with you. And I’m me.”

“I-”

“Go to that place now. Focus only on your ability. We are going to walk out that door, and you’re going to camouflage our presence. They’ll look past us. We’ll walk away safely. Picture it.”

She did. Eloise allowed herself to imagine wrapping the two of them in enough influence to trick others’ eyes into skipping over them, seeing them as ordinary and belonging as the bugs in the grass. She pictured safety and steaming showers and warm blankets on her worn-but-still comfy mattress. She thought of home and books in her thrifted armchair; of pages that smell antique and crisp and make just the right sound when you turn them. 

Eloise opened her eyes. The fear still buzzed in her chest, but the world felt less like it was about to collapse.

Artisan gave a slight nod at whatever he saw on her face. “Good girl. Let’s go.”

In what felt both like an instant and an eternity, they were outside. Artisan kept a hand on Eloise’s shoulder to steady her forward, murmuring encouragements and instructions beside her.

Eloise tried to narrow her focus to just the two of them, willing the landscape to swallow them up into imperceivable specks of dust. They took two strides, three.

There were bodies everywhere.

Villains, even guards clamoring for escape, were mowed down. Snipers lined the roof, the watchtowers… A glance around revealed more on every side. 

Eloise’s toe caught on the leg of a corpse, and she squeaked, jerking away. 

Artisan grabbed her arm, pulling her close again. She could feel the perception barrier around them flickering. 

“Relax. Focus.” He said it like it was nothing. Like they weren’t staring down a firing squad, navigating a labyrinth of corpses and blood. “Close your eyes for me.”

The thought of being blind in the belly of so much danger made an embarrassing catch in her throat. 

“You’re distracted by what you see,” Artisan continued. “Close your eyes. Focus all of your attention on masking us. I will guide you. Eloise- I will protect you if you help me. I need your help.”

I need your help. 

The plea was simple, a disguise of its own, but it settled between her ribs all the same. Her eyes pressed closed. She concentrated on blending in. On protecting them both.

They were moving again. Artisan’s hands on her arms led her forward, weaving through the carnage with surprising grace. Despite his smooth guidance, she felt clumsy and staggering. If she tripped over another body… Her stomach squeezed.

Someone screamed. Eloise’s gaze snapped to them as she found herself clinging to Artisan’s side. The source of the shouting dropped to his knees, hands behind his head–a security guard from inside–leaking red from his side. “Please, it’s Jones! It’s Jones! I work here, I’m on your side! Please, help me, help–”

He dropped like a stone. Blood trickled down his forehead.

Eloise choked on words that wouldn’t come. The world seemed to tilt, fuzzy at the edges.

“Eloise-” Artisan’s voice seemed very far away.

She was only distantly aware of more gunfire as Artisan pushed in front of her. 

Artisan hissed through his teeth, clutching his chest. He staggered back a step, so at odds with his usual bird-like elegance. Eloise stared, horrified. 

“Cover us, cover us now,” he said, his tone bleeding with urgency.

“Are you-”

“Now, Eloise!”

His tone spiked fresh fear up her spine, and Eloise closed her eyes, covering her ears as she pictured the two of them fading into the landscape with the same ease as a smudge in a watercolor painting. The veil slid thinly into place, fragile, easily moved. But it was something.

At the same time, Artisan jerked her to the side as another barrage of bullets chased them.

Eloise squealed, but didn’t dare look, bearing down on her focus as if sinking her teeth in.

“I’m trying!” she snapped, a plea of her own.

“You can do more than you think you can,” Artisan said. “I can feel it in you. You can do more than affect just us. You can affect them. You can change what they see; how they see us. Reach out in your mind. Change their perception.”

She imagined her power stretching in all directions, each line a stream in a spider’s web. She tapped gently at the windows of each guard’s mind and left a new idea there, coaxing them to forget what they’d seen. To move past it. To completely disregard the villain and his volunteer accomplice.

The shooting slowed, then stopped. The concentration left her dizzy and wobbling, sinking to her knees on the ground.

She only opened her eyes when Artisan scooped her into his arms.

“Don’t stop,” he murmured, walking on with her, “You’re doing beautifully.”

She stared at the hole in his chest, jumpsuit soaked through with blood. “You’re hurt- You should be dead.” Dumbly, too boldly, she pressed a hand over the wound. She’d blame the fatigue.

“Dead?” He clicked his tongue. “Not so easily done.”

She could feel the skin and muscle beneath her hand shifting, warping, weaving back together. Relief flooded her. “Oh.”

“Oh.” Artisan was smiling again. “Don’t lose your focus. We’re nearly there. You might not want to look.”

As they neared the final gate, the guards began to drop one by one. Eyes glazed over, necks twisted and wrenched out of place. Moving as if puppeteered, the last one standing buzzed open the gate, finally leaning into the fence’s barbed wire to cut open his own throat without a sound. The blood gurgling out was quiet as he, too, fell to the ground with a soft thud.

Eloise really wished she’d looked away. Her insides heaved.

The strain of keeping them unnoticed tugged at her every nerve ending with a plea for relief. She’d never pushed herself so hard before.

“You didn’t have to kill them,” she said softly, closing her eyes. Her head felt cracked in two.

Just a little farther and she could let go…

Artisan stroked back her hair, carrying her through the open gate out into freedom. His voice was something silken and velvet, something wicked and monstrous. “Oh, but I wanted to.”

She blacked out.

Fred rested his chin on his arm, studying George’s face. It was odd to see George so worried about something so small. Perhaps Y/N didn’t feel like coming to breakfast. Maybe she was sleeping in. At the very least, the misanthropic girl missing a meal wasn’t cause for such concern. “Huh.”

“What?” George stared hard at his twin, seemingly preparing himself for any lecture on George’s life choices or disagreement born of disbelief or even some well-intended yet annoying advice.

Fred picked up his fork again, refocusing on his food. “Lee owes me two sickles.”

“Not helpful,” George huffed, looking back over at the Slytherin table, as if Y/N had snuck in without his notice in the last thirty seconds. 

“Alright, so how’d you run her off?” Fred carelessly wiped his mouth with the clean corner of his napkin. “Will it require a box of chocolates or an Italian holiday?”

“I snogged her.”

Fred’s jaw went slack. “Right. An Italian holiday for the two of you together then.” When George didn’t say anything, Fred cocked his head, sensing his twin’s hesitation. “Was it bad?”

“No!” Aghast, George scowled at his brother. “It was good–”

“Only good?” Fred asked.

George’s scowl intensified. “We were both having a great time, but then Snape interrupted.”

“Snape.”

“Yeah, she was serving detention. I snuck out and waited for her, but Filch showed up, and I had to dodge.”

“And now she’s not at breakfast.”

“Yeah.” George sighed. “Which means I need to go find her.”

Fred took a sip of his water. “Not even going to try playing it cool?” 

George shook his head. “Y/N doesn’t need cool, she needs involved.” The way he spoke gave Fred the impression that George knew much more and had thought much deeper about Y/N and what she needed than Fred anticipated. 

The doors of the Great Hall opened, and George whipped his head around with the speed of a centaur to look at those who entered, only to deflate slightly when he saw it was a gaggle of Ravenclaw third-years. 

Fred watched his twin's clear disappointment, an alarm whistle like that of a Sneakoscope going off in his head. This wasn’t just about a random snog with an uncertain ending. “Why does this matter so much?” Fred asked curiously.

George blinked, his fingers nervously twirling a fork. “I dunno,” he muttered. 

“If you're gonna lie to me,” Fred scoffed, “you could try to be convincing.” 

The fork froze, and George stared at the metal tines for a moment with so many emotions crossing his face, they couldn’t be deciphered. “Mate, she needs someone.”

Fred raised an eyebrow. A genuine answer, if also incorrect. “Y/F/N Y/L/N doesn't need anything.” 

“Yes, she does.” George's words were soft and not at all defensive. They were matter-of-fact, spoken uncannily like Granger when she answered Flitwick’s questions in Charms. “She tries to hide it, but everyone needs someone to help hold them up.”

“Are you saying that she needs you?” 

“I'm saying I might be the only one who cares enough to notice what she needs.” When George looked at Fred, there was a steadfast determination in his face that Fred had only seen a few times. And each of those times, George had plowed his way forward. Fred studied his twin, running his tongue over his teeth. Was George making a mistake? If he was, nobody would be able to talk him out of it until George himself realized it wasn’t right. 

A few days ago, Fred had seen George and Y/N walking together through the grounds. He’d known George was unusually attached to the Slytherin, but to see them chatting with each other and how enthralled George was…Fred had to admit to a little twinge. This was his twin, it was the two of them who were supposed to gravitate around each other. 

But now, looking back on the memory, Fred realized he couldn’t remember how Y/N had looked. He was sure he would’ve noticed if she seemed uncomfortable or malicious, so she must’ve meant well. Perhaps she was as taken with George as George was with her, especially if she’d let him kiss her. 

Making his decision, Fred leaned forward. “You know…the ferret will probably know where she is.”

“Ugh.” George lowered his head onto the table with a loud thunk. 

“It’s probably the fastest way to start, you know he always keeps an eye on her.”

George, head down on the table, didn’t move for a moment. “I hate it when you’re right,” he said as he finally straightened and got to his feet. 

“Most do,” Fred said solemnly, finally returning his attention to his pancakes. “Just be glad you don’t owe me two sickles.”

Not replying, George swept out of the Great Hall in such a hurry, he didn’t even stop to give Umbridge a dark look as he passed her.

-

“Malfoy.”

Standing in the Central Hall by the fountain, the slimy git turned to George, mouth already curling. “Weaselbee.” He leaned against the fountain, folding his arms in a manner which his goons quickly copied. “Come to ask for some fashion tips?” His voice rang out enough to draw the attention of a few other cliques nearby. “Of course not,” Malfoy said before George could reply. “You can't afford it.” 

George ignored the laughter from Malfoy's posse. “I’m looking for Y/N. Do you know where she is?”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed to slits, glaring at George. “What do you want with her?”

George grinned. “Fashion tips.”

“Well, I knew she was spending her time with charity cases,” Malfoy said in a stage-whisper, nudging Goyle beside him, “but even she has better things to do than help the riff raff.”

George took a breath through his nose, taking a moment to grasp onto his patience. 

Malfoy, of course, didn’t allow even a moment, before squinting. “You’re the reason she’s acting up. She’s never had a detention before. Not until you got in the way.”

“As I recall,” George said, “you’re the one who reported her.” His words were easy, but he knew by Malfoy’s swallow that his expression was anything but. 

The boy stuck his nose imperiously in the air. “She’s never broken the rules before.” 

George knew his chuckle would rub Malfoy the wrong way, so he let it fly. “It’s no surprise that your loyalty lasts only as long as she does what you want.” 

Malfoy’s cheeks reddened, and he straightened to step closer to George, his hand drifting to his robe pocket. “Your loyalty only started once she got in trouble!”

George remembered that night in the corridor after Y/N’s detention with Umbridge. She’d been the last person he’d expected to come out of that gaudy pink office, and she’d walked out with a simultaneous mix of confidence and reserve. A masterful mix, if George said so himself. Nearly everyone who’d landed detention with Umbridge landed themselves also in her perpetually adverse graces. But Y/N managed to appear chastened without fear, and Umbridge hadn’t given Y/N a second glance. 

It was only after Umbridge’s office door had closed when Y/N showed a hint of pain, which had immediately evaporated the second George had revealed himself. 

“If you left her alone,” Malfoy was saying, “she wouldn’t be in hot water with Snape.”

George’s nostrils flared. As if he hadn’t done all he could for Y/N’s wellbeing. But this was not the time. “Look, have you seen her or not?” He had much better things to be doing than arguing with Malfoy. Such as arguing with Y/N. 

Malfoy scowled. “No. And you’ll–” George started walking away, and Malfoy shouted the words after him. “–stay away if you care what’s good for you!”

-

As breakfast winded down, the castle corridors filled with people. There was a massive snowstorm blowing in which prevented being out on the grounds or out at Hogsmeade, but nobody wanted to be cooped up in their dormitories. 

That apparently included the Slytherin first-year boys, huddled in a group in the fourth floor corridor. The sandy stone walls were bathed in bright light from the white snow falling outside the windows. The group chatted and laughed, Y/N’s brother standing in the centre, enjoying his clear status among them. 

“Clem?” George said, taking great care to stop a respectful distance away from the group. He was not a threat to them, and he wanted to prove it. 

The group of Slytherin boys turned, their bodies immediately tense and hands drifting to their wand pockets. The deep distrust on their faces made George hesitate. What had they experienced in their short time in this castle that could make them so paranoid? 

He held up his hands to show he wasn’t holding his wand. “I just want to talk.”

None of the Slytherins budged from their alert positions. 

“It’s about your sister.”

Since Clem was at the back of the group, George was the only one who could see the split second of worry that spread across the young boy’s face. Just like Y/N, however, his face went instantly blank, concealing his thoughts. “It’s alright guys. I’ll be right back.”

Following George around the corner, Clem’s mask lifted to reveal the worry once more. “What is it?”

“Have you seen Y/N? Last night, she and I…” George blinked, suddenly questioning the idea of telling an eleven-year-old boy that he snogged his older sister. “We were talking, and we got interrupted, and now I can’t find her anywhere.” There, that wasn’t suspicious. 

Clem’s boyish face tightened. “What did you say to her?” 

George swallowed, debating which part of the previous night’s conversation could be shared. “We talked about knights and princesses.” As soon as the words left his mouth, George felt his cheeks heat up. “We did!” he hurried to say, not that that was convincing. “We debated whether or not she was more like a knight or a princess.”

Clem’s only response was to lift an eyebrow, looking astonishingly like Professor McGongagall for having so little in common with the head of Gryffindor house. 

“We really did,” George said weakly before shaking his head slightly. “Look, can you just tell me where she is?” 

“I don’t know where she is,” Clem replied. “She wasn’t at breakfast.” 

Disappointed at the lack of new information, George nodded and turned to go.

“Whatever you did,” Clem said, making George turn around again, “you better not have hurt her.” The boy’s face turned menacing. “She really likes you.”

The first-year’s intention was certainly not to be encouraging, but George felt his spirits lift in spite of the hostility. “She said that?”

Clem shook his head. “She didn’t say anything. That’s how I know.” And with that, he left in the direction of his friends. 

George grinned stupidly at the floor. He knew Y/N would never let him close enough to snog her, much less snog him back if she didn’t like him. Still, it was nice to know. 

So nice that George practically skipped to the Gryffindor Common Room, where he’d seen Harry studying earlier. Harry’d taken to staying where Umbridge didn’t often go, meaning the Room of Requirement and Gryffindor territory. 

When George entered the sea of students all fighting for armchairs and couches, he spotted Harry in the corner by the fire and maneuvered towards him. “Harry, I need to use the map.”

Harry, to his credit, didn’t question George. He just led George into his dormitory and pulled the map from his chest to lay it on his bed. Soon, George was poring over the moving parts of the castle. 

“Who are we looking for?” Harry asked, joining George.

“Y/L/N.” 

George felt Harry tense beside him. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with her lately,” was the Chosen One’s chosen reply. Eyes not leaving the map, George hummed affirmatively. “Are you sure she’s trustworthy?”

“Yes.” George lifted his finger to pass it over the mass of names displayed in the Great Hall, even though he knew Y/N wasn’t there. Harry’s shoes shuffled on the floor, his weight shifting. “Spit it out,” George said, his finger now tracking down the dungeons. 

“How do you know she’s trustworthy?”

Ahh. So that’s what this was about.

George glanced at Harry, taking in the stubborn jut of the boy’s chin. “Would you ask me that if she were in Hufflepuff?”

Harry didn’t reply. 

“Y’know,” George said, his thoughtful tone masking his frustration, “Merlin was a Slytherin. So is Tonks’s mum.”

“And so’s Voldemort, Malfoy, Bellatrix, and Snape, and–”

“I know.” George blinked at Harry, uncertain how to explain his attachment to this particular Slytherin and his conviction that she was of upright character. Finally, he just shrugged. “She’s different, Harry.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Harry grumbled, bending over the map once more.

“I never know what I’m doing,” George quipped, though it sounded flat to his own ears. Truthfully, with Y/N, he knew exactly what he was doing. Well, trying to do. 

“There!” Harry pointed where, sure enough, her name was written beside a pair of footprints George thought were more lovely than any of the others he’d been looking at. 

George sighed, relieved. “The owlery.” He had no idea what she was doing there, but at least now he knew where he could find answers.

-

Standing in the owlery, staring out at the worsening storm, I waited. It was too cold for anyone to be loitering in the tower and with the snowstorm coming, no one in their right mind would send their owl out with a letter. 

But I knew a letter was coming for me. Y/L/Ns were never deterred by anything, certainly not weather. 

No letter had arrived, but I could almost feel the brush of feathers and harsh peck of a beak from Eris, the family owl. I could picture the Y/L/N family crest pressed into green wax, sealing the crisp grey envelope. Worse still, I could almost certainly forge an identical letter with no help. 

Y/L/Ns didn’t break the rules and certainly didn’t associate with Gryffindors. It was the job of daughters to take care of sons. If I really wanted to be a burden, I’d better leave Clem out of it. 

The sentiments were familiar, but just because one knew a curse and its caster didn’t mean the curse didn’t hurt. 

The snow started coming down harder and harder, and still I stood, watching the snowstorm for the black, elegant owl. The longer the letter took to arrive, the more my mind raced. 

Maybe Snape hadn’t mentioned my first detention with Umbridge; he loathed her nearly as much as the students did. Maybe he told them to revoke my Hogsmeade privileges. Maybe he’d mentioned both detentions without explaining why I’d gotten them. Would that be bad? My parents wouldn’t have context, and it was the context that was both paramount and damning. 

Absentmindedly, I lifted my cold fingers to my lips, assuredly shivering from the cold and not the memories from last night. 

I definitely hadn’t expected kissing George to be anything like what it had been. 

I shook my head. Wouldn’t have expected. It wasn’t like I’d been sitting around like a silly Hufflepuff, daydreaming about what it would feel like to have George kiss me. 

…was it possible Snape told my parents about the kiss?

No, not at all. To have told my parents about the kiss, he had to have seen it. And if he’d seen it, he would’ve seen George. And if he’d seen George, there is no way George would’ve made it out of the dungeon without detention. 

At least that piece of information was safe. My eyes caught on a speck, pulling me through my thoughts. 

Was that…

I squinted at the horizon. Were my eyes playing tricks on me? 

My heart sank as the dark speck in the furiously falling snow grew large enough for me to make out the flapping wings. 

Eris. 

She covered the last furlong of her journey too quickly for me to regain my composure. Settling on the glassless window frame, she held out her claw, the grey envelope dangling from it as if the words inside did not burden her in the least. 

With shaking hands, I accepted the letter. Eris, job done, flew off, selecting one of the topmost cubbies to rest. 

There was no writing on the outside of the envelope. My parents conducted enough secret business to keep the exterior of their correspondence anonymous and charm the envelope to burst into flames if someone other than the intended recipient opened it. 

Popping the wax seal open, I pulled out the letter to reveal the elegant script of my mother. Y/L/Ns believed that delicate handwriting was the first sign of a true lady. 

I looked away from the page, trying to control my breathing. I’d accepted their criticism before, how could this time be much different? Despite my efforts, my heart was in my mouth as I finally started reading. 

Scathing. The words were like knives, flaying me open. 

They’d never gone this far before. 

I struggled to draw breath from the thin air as I reread the final line. 

It is with every hope for your refined improvement, we have decided–

I crumpled the parchment, hurling it at the wall. The light parchment only made it two feet in the air before falling to the stone floor, removing the opportunity for satisfaction. Just another effort of mine that fell short. 

I looked up at the ceiling, refusing to cry. Tears only made everything worse. Y/L/Ns didn’t cry. 

Resting my hand against the freezing stone of the window frame, I closed my eyes, allowing the cold breeze to slowly numb my face. Numbness was better than feelings. 

Y/L/Ns never let anything get to them. 

Leaning forward to expose more and more of my body to the wind, I almost couldn’t feel the tears slipping down my cheeks. Furiously, I wiped them away, but soon the flow was too great to keep up with. 

I’d known better, I’d been better for almost my entire time at Hogwarts. I’d stayed away from everyone to protect myself, yes, but also to protect others, especially Clem. I was the only one who should’ve had to bear the force of our parents’ disapproval. 

I knew how to stay out of trouble, how to ensure my parents weren’t unnecessarily reminded of my existence, and I’d acted in spite of it. 

I’d done this to myself. It was all my own fault. 

I slammed a fist into the stone frame, the pressure in my chest growing with the effort of keeping down my sobs. 

The sound of footsteps on the stairs made me jolt. Holding a hand over my mouth, I pressed myself into the wall, trying to make myself small enough that if the individual walking up the steps were looking for an owl all the way at the top of the Owlery, they wouldn’t see me. Even so, I turned to face the storm, to keep my surely blotchy face away from any observer, even the owls. 

The footsteps grew louder and louder, my heart pounding. Whoever it was, they’d passed so many of the little alcoves housing the school owls, they must’ve been looking for a specific one. 

It doesn’t take long to post a letter, I told myself. It doesn’t take–

“Imagine,” said a familiar voice, “that I’ve been looking for a friend long enough to realise I haven’t found them because they’re avoiding me, and then I have the good luck to stumble upon their hiding place.”

No.

Not now. 

I turned my face farther away, pushing the side of my face into stone. “Bugger off.” There was a slight wobble in my words, and I could only hope the howling wind outside the tower covered it. 

“Well now, that’s not very nice. Can’t a good-looking bloke just enquire how a bonnie’s doing?” George asked good naturedly. 

“Not if–” My words were croaky as they left my thick throat. I cleared it. “Not if you’re stupid enough to be the bloke and I’m unlucky enough to be the bonnie.” 

Silence fell, and somehow the silence was worse than the sound of his voice in my current defenseless moment. His voice, useless as it was against the chill of my skin, was almost a balm against the chill emanating from my chest. 

Y/L/Ns didn’t need friends.

“Don’t slip on your way out,” I snapped. “I’d hate to step in blood on the stairs.”

I expected to hear the sound of footsteps on the owlery stairs, but George was never one to do the expected. “Y/N,” he said carefully. “Why are you crying?”

Bloody hell. Bloody, minging, blooming, manky hell. 

I stared harder at the snowy mountains as they grew blurrier. “Not today, Wealsey.”

It was silent for a moment. “If you really wanted me to leave, you shouldn’t have used my last name. It's another sign that something’s wrong.”

“Please go away,” I managed to say. I should’ve known that the appearance of manners would only make George more determined. 

The next step was softer, unhurried in the way that George always was. The knowledge that he was coming closer made me curl myself tighter towards the window. “What’s wrong?” he asked slowly and clearly. As if articulation was the reason he hadn’t gotten an answer.

“Nothing.” Blinking only loosed another tear.

“I never heard of anyone crying over nothing.”

“Please,” I whispered again, not sure what I was asking for, but knowing I couldn’t bear for him to stand there and know that I was crying. 

“Don’t leave me hanging.” How could he sound so gentle and so fearful at the same time? It tugged painfully at the pressure in my chest. “Talk to me about what’s going on.” 

I was losing the will to resist. “Just leave me alone,” I begged as a last ditch effort. 

“Tell me it isn’t about last night, tell me I didn’t hurt you.” 

I squeezed my eyes shut at the alarm in his tone. He was too good, too good for this school and too good for this situation and too good for me. He really was a knight in shining armor, but I was not the princess for him. “It’s not you.” 

I’d expected some relief or further pressing, but George didn’t say anything. The only sounds in the tower was the howling of the wind outside and the rustling and shifting of hundreds of owls. He couldn’t have left, I would’ve heard him. 

In my mind, I tried to picture the way George looked behind me. The only thing I could easily see was the concern I’d seen in his face many a time. Did he have his hands in his pockets the way he tended to when he shuffled along beside me in the hall? Or were they clenched at his sides in frustration? 

The curiosity was too much. I peeked.

George’s hands weren’t in his pockets; they were holding a familiar sheet of parchment. He stared down in shock at it, and my fear skyrocketed. 

I lunged, snatching the letter from him. “Don’t!” 

Many of the sleeping owls started, some awakening from sleep to settle their attentive eyes on us. Disgruntled hoots filled the air, echoing throughout the tower. I hadn’t meant to disturb the dignified creatures, but remorse couldn’t puncture my panic. 

George’s deep horror was a terrible thing to see. “That was from your parents?”

“No.” I stuffed the letter into the pocket of my trousers. “No, a-and it’s none of your business!”

“Why would they write all that?” George's brown eyes—solemn as the owls’—tore into me even deeper than the letter crumpled in my fist. “That's messed up, Y/N.” 

I swiped at my cheeks, trying to hide the evidence of my hurt. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Y/N, I’ve gotten detention more times than I can count, my parents have never written a letter like that. Even their Howlers aren’t that awful.”

As if my parents would ever do anything as undignified as a Howler. Besides, they did just fine without the added volume. 

 George started towards me, and I shrunk away from him. He stopped. “Y/N…they’re wrong. You’re not a burden.” 

My breathing hitched. “George–”

“You’re not.”

“It’s none of your business,” I replied, but my tone was anything but convincing. Also unconvincing was the painful rate at which my breathing was reaching. 

“How could they say all that to you just for getting detention?” George asked with a clear mix of sadness and disgust.

I needed to regain control of the situation, to get the upper hand before this spiraled further. “You're overreacting.”

Anger joined Geroge’s mix. “Is that what they've told you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I told him fiercely. “It’s fine.”

“It isn’t!” George shook his head angrily. “They don’t know you, they don’t know that all that you’ve done, you’ve done to protect those you care about. First Clem…” George trailed off. “Then me.” A strange look was growing on his face, a look which threatened the conclusions he was arriving at.

I glared. “Stop talk–”

“You protected me from injustice,” he smoothly interrupted, “but Clem snuck that broomstick into the castle, that detention was rightfully his.” 

“I mean it, George!” I warned, but George didn’t heed me. 

“Now why would you try so desperately to protect him from the school? Well, you wouldn’t.”

“Stop it!”

“You were protecting him,” George pointed at the parchment still in my hand, “from that.” 

“You…” It was getting harder to catch my breath. “You don’t understand.” 

A spark flamed in George’s eyes. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong.”

George cracked a small smile and made a disappointed sound. “I should’ve seen that coming.” He stepped closer. “See, I don’t believe you.”

“I will end you,” I threatened, backing away but George didn’t stop this time. “You hear me? If you keep pushing me and talking to me and smiling at me and going to detention with me and kissing me and trying to save me–” My back hit the stone grid of the window, and a surprised gasp left my lips. I quickly held out my hand to keep him at bay. “If you come any closer, I…I’ll break you!”

George stepped close enough for my hand to rest on his chest. The contact made him stop, making me think he’d finally heeded my warning, until he lifted his hand to cover mine. “I know your parents made you believe that. But I don’t.”

I yanked my hand away from him like I’d been burned, even though it was my heart that stung, not my skin. I was trapped. Either I stepped further away and risked sending myself through the glassless window…or I stepped closer to George. “Walk away, George, I mean it!”

“No.”

“I’ll hex you!”

“Then hex me.” George’s hands cupped my shoulders, pulling me in.

I fought it, pushing against his chest, trying to get him to let me go, but his grip only grew more insistent. “Don’t,” I moaned, turning my face away so he couldn’t see the fresh tears falling.

But George never was good at following directions. 

His arms came around me, holding me tightly.

And I shattered.

An inhuman sound spilled from my mouth as my tears fell with foolhardy abandon. My knees gave out, George being the only thing holding me up. He slowly lowered us to the Owlery floor, never once loosening the grip that kept me upright. 

“How do you do it?” I wept, thinking of how easily George had accepted Snape’s bullying and the judgment from his housemates. “How do you not care?”

George pressed a quick kiss to my temple, his arms holding me tighter. “They’re your parents. I don’t think it’s possible for you not to care.” I pressed my face into his chest, trying to muffle the horrid sounds I was making, and he lightly ran his hand over my hair. “They don’t know the real you,” he whispered as I sobbed. “I’m not going anywhere,” George whispered into my temple. “I told you, you won’t break me.”

“You broke me,” I moaned, my nose rubbing against the soft knit of his sweater. 

George pressed his cheek to my head. “I’m here,” he said. “It’s alright.”

-

The sky was fully dark now, and the chill had crept its long fingers around my ears and toes, but still I clung to George like a raft in a storm.

And he let me, even though my cries had subsided. 

“I understand now,” he said softly when we’d been silent for what felt like hours.

I’d never wanted him to. Even now as he held me, the knowledge that he had seen me cry made my stomach twist unpleasantly. But I was too tired to fight it now, and it felt too good to be this close to him. 

“You need to warn Clem.” I didn’t immediately protest, but George seemed to know how much I hated the idea. “I know, it flies in the face of all you’ve done to protect him, but he needs to know. You might not be able to intercept the next letter.”

I sat up. “How do you know I’ve been intercepting his letters?”

George’s gaze was tired as his deft fingers tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “Because I know you, Y/N. I’ve seen you in protective mode.”

“Clem is still good.” I wiped my nose on my sleeve. “They will ruin him.”

“He loves you, Y/N, he loves you so much. He wouldn’t want you to keep this from him.” His hand left my ear to cup my cheek. “It’s not fair for you to shoulder this alone.” Not fair, he shouldn’t have been arguing this with me when he kept brushing his thumb across my cheekbone, like he knew his touch would make me more obliging. 

I gathered enough willpower to shake my head, which sadly made George drop his hand. “He’s the son they always wanted,” I nevertheless replied. “He will head up the family legacy one day, and the less damaged he is when he does, the better for everyone.”

“So what are you going to tell him about Christmas?”

I shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d gotten to that point of the letter. “I’ll tell them they went to the Mediterranean, they have a villa there.”

“He’s eleven, not stupid.”

“I’d rather he suspect something than know that his parents forbade him and his sister from coming home for Christmas.” 

George let out a long sigh. “How am I supposed to go home for the break if I know that you’re here by yourself?” 

I pressed myself into him again, unwilling to admit how much the idea of him leaving affected me. 

George’s fingers lightly ran through my hair. “Well,” he mused, “you’ll just have to come home with me.”

I pushed away from George and onto my feet so quickly, my head spun. “What?”

Looking marvelously unruffled from his position on the floor, George held my gaze. “If you come with me, I won’t have to spend all day worrying about you because I’ll be able to make sure you’re alright.”

“I could never leave Clem alone.”

George rolled his eyes. “Don’t pretend you don’t know Clem’s included in that invitation.”

Astonishing, how quickly all my pain and embarrassment could transform into incredulity. “George, I’ve never even had a conversation with your twin, and you want me and my brother to spend Christmas with your family?” 

He didn’t dissolve into explanations or excuses. He simply looked up at me and said: “Yes.”

“That’s absurd.” 

“Yes.”

“Your family will be shocked.”

“Yes.”

“And Christmas break is almost two weeks long!”

“Yes.”

“Stop saying yes!”

George rose to his feet. “Look, you don’t want Clem to know what your parents have said, right? Simply telling him your parents are going on holiday isn’t going to be enough. But if they’re going on holiday and the two of you have an invitation elsewhere, he won’t think about it too much.”

“He’s eleven, not stupid,” I parroted.

“Trust me. As someone who once was an eleven-year-old boy, he’ll be wholly focused on playing Quidditch scrimmages and eating as much food as his stomach can hold.”

I hated to admit it, but that sounded like a better Christmas break than Clem had ever had. “But won’t your parents be–”

“My parents,” George wrapped his arms around my lower back, drawing me into his embrace again, “would love to have you home, our house has always been open to friends.”

I blinked, suddenly full of nerves of a different kind. “Friends?”

Unfortunately, George’s perception did not suffer a lapse. He grinned. “That can be a conversation for later.”

Covering my brilliantly warm cheeks with my freezing hands, I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let me. “Do you trust me?” he whispered. 

“Regrettably.”

George, the wonder that he was, tilted his head back to let out a laugh. “I swear, if you and Clem come with me for Christmas, the two of you will be safe. And who knows?” He looked down at me with twinkling eyes. “You might even have fun.” 

I knew I should say no. Forget their displeasure over Snape’s letter, if my parents found out I was even entertaining spending the holidays with the Weasleys, let alone that I’d gone and brought Clem? The catastrophic repercussions for both the Weasleys and myself could not be understated. 

But with George’s arms around me once again, anchoring me, keeping me safe, I looked up in his eyes and gave him my answer.

“Okay.”

-

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They both paused as I started dishing up my plate, looking at me with expressions similar to the servants’.

“Good morning,” I said pointedly. 

“We, er…didn’t expect to see you this early,” Cor said, with a strange twist to his lips.

“I don’t have much time left with my family before we leave for Narnia,” I replied. “I want to enjoy it while I can.” My brothers exchanged a look I could not understand before returning to their food. 

We ate in silence for a few minutes, allowing me to get halfway through my sausage before the door to the dining room swung open. The way my father rubbed his head as he walked gingerly told me that wine was indeed part of his jubilance the day before. 

“Good morning,” I said.

He quirked a brow. “Good morning,” he said slowly. “Is King Edmund joining us?”

I finished chewing my bite of biscuit. “He may. I didn’t wake him before leaving.” My father looked at the twins the same way they’d looked at each other. “What?” I demanded. 

“Nothing, my dear.” My father patted my shoulder before taking his place at the head of the table. “Nothing at all.”

Somehow I doubted that, just as much as I doubted my ability to pry the answers out of them.

The only sounds filling the room were the clinking of cutlery and the soft sounds of chewing. Many a breakfast had been spent this way…so why did the silence bother me so? Why did I so long for my father or one of my brothers to say something? It wasn’t as if this morning was like every other morning we’d ever spent together. I was a married woman now.

“When will you and King Edmund be returning to Narnia?” Cor asked finally. 

I smiled at him. “I’m not sure. We haven’t discussed it yet.”

“I imagine he’ll inform us when he wakes.” My father’s tone was careless, his eyes focused solely on his plate. 

“Well, if–” I began to say, but the opening of the door made me stop. 

“Good morning, all.” Edmund swept inside and took a seat beside me without any hesitation, as if it was natural. As if we’d been doing it all our lives. 

“Good morning, King Edmund!” my father boomed. “I trust you slept well?”

Edmund dished a healthy helping of scrambled eggs onto his plate. “I did indeed.”

My brothers glanced at each other, Corin with his mouth agape and Cor looking like he’d just swallowed his boiled egg whole. I paused in my chewing to give them a strange look, but upon noticing my attention, they quickly lowered their gaze to their food, their cheeks a deep shade of pink. 

How odd. 

“The banquet went on for hours last night.” My father’s satisfaction rang off his every word. “The nobles and council all send their compliments on a wonderful celebration.” I wiped my mouth with my napkin to hide my frown. King Loon was only addressing Edmund, as if the compliments from those on the guest list was some private victory to be shared between the two of them. 

Edmund inclined his head with an admirable grace. “That is very kind of them. I’m glad I wasn’t the only one who enjoyed the special day."

King Loon’s enthusiastic head bobbing was hard to watch. I lowered my gaze to my plate, trying to tune out the rest of the conversation and numb the hurt wrapping around my insides. 

A hand touched my arm, causing me to look up at Edmund. “Did you sleep well?” he asked softly. 

I smiled back at him. “I could not–”

My father laid down his goblet, making a loud clunk that drew all eyes to him. “So.” He leaned forward towards Edmund, bracing his arms on the table. “It's time to discuss Y/N’s coronation.”

Edmund didn’t look away from my father, but his hand, previously resting lightly on my forearm, slid lightly down until it could lace with mine. He squeezed quickly, and I somehow knew that he was waiting for a signal. If I squeezed back, he’d take the lead. 

I looked across the table at my brothers, trying to warn them with my eyes. They in turn glanced at each other, concern on their faces. They didn’t know what the eruption would be, only that it was about to occur. “Father,” I said lightly, “there isn’t going to be a coronation.”

King Loon let out some sort of laugh that sounded uncannily like that of a temperamental mare. “I know you don’t like having all the attention on you, but you have married a king. There’s going to be a coronation at some point, so it might as well be as soon as possible.”

Edmund let go of my hand, his jaw clenching. My hand shot out to rest on his thigh, making him look over at me. I shook my head minutely, begging him to remain silent. This was my choice. It was only fair that I should break the news and receive the brunt of his displeasure. “There isn’t going to be a coronation, Father,” I repeated gently, “because I’m not going to be a queen.”

Cor and Corin exchanged another look, communicating in the way that twins could. “Perhaps we should leave,” Cor suggested as they both stood. 

“Nonsense! You will stay,” my father commanded. Once my twin brothers were reluctantly but silently seated once more, my father turned to me, a smile breaking out on his face once more. “Y/N, you’re in such good spirits from the wedding that you jest!”

The muscle underneath my hand tensed, and I knew I was losing my opening before Edmund jumped in. “I’m not cracking jokes,” I said quickly. “I’m being serious.”

King Loon gave a short laugh. From the way Edmund’s fingers curled into a fist around his fork and the dark expression on his face, he seemed prepared to use the fork to eviscerate my father. “She speaks the truth, Your Majesty.” Even his voice seemed ready to cause damage. Edmund had seen my father’s arrogant stubbornness before; why was it affecting him so much more now?

Finally seeming to realize it wasn’t a practical joke, my father’s figure seemed to swell with indignance, but not at me. King Loon glared at my husband. “I did not let her marry you simply so she could remain what she already was.”

My mouth dropped in utter disbelief, and I wouldn’t have been able to muster a response. Edmund however, glowered with such menace, I could hardly find similarities between his face and the face of the man I'd woken up next to. “And I did not marry her simply so you could have all you wanted!” I stared at Edmund, dumbfounded by the volume of his words.

“It’s not what I want, it’s what she wants,” King Loon protested. 

“And how would you know that?” Edmund dropped his fork onto his plate, making a loud clang that made me jump. “You have not asked her what she wants!”

“That’s not true!”

But Edmund was just getting started. “You did not ask her if she wants to be crowned! You did not ask her if she was willing to marry Prince Rabadash! You did not even ask her if she wanted to marry me, and if she hadn’t already agreed to marry me, I would not have asked you for her hand!”

My brothers glanced at me with a mixture of guilt and horror, and it was then I remembered that they didn’t know I’d known about the potential arrangement with Rabadash. My father, however, had recovered himself and did not look at all abashed. He slammed his hands on the table as he stood, all pretenses of courtesy gone. “You tricked me! Convinced me to marry off my only daughter only to throw away any chance of her becoming a queen!”

“Father!” I said sharply. 

“Stay out of this!” King Loon snapped, without even looking away from Edmund. 

Edmund rose to his feet with a lethal speed I’d never before seen. I was surprised the very foundations of the castle weren't shaking from the pure strength of his fury. “If you must raise your voice with anyone, you will raise it at me.”

The two kings stared at each other, an exhibitionistic stubbornness on one side and a quiet, steely resolve on the other. 

I got to my feet, laying a hand on Edmund’s arm. “King Edmund.” Edmund tore his eyes away from my father, allowing me to see the depths of rage in his eyes. I tried to exude gratitude for his willingness to face my father’s unhappiness. “You needn’t strain yourself. This is a conversation between my father and I.”

For a long moment, the room was still. “What is the meaning of this?” my father asked me, his anger a pale monument beside Edmund’s. He turned his baleful gaze on my husband. “King Edmund, talk some sense into your bride.”

Edmund’s posture straightened, bringing him to his full, towering height. “She is not my bride, she is my wife.” He stepped away from the table, pushing his chair in before fixing my father with an exceedingly stony stare. “We are allies, Your Majesty. You do not command Narnia.”

King Loon went abruptly still, his shoulders finally sagging in the face of Edmund’s anger. He turned towards me for the first time, looking more uncertain than I’d ever seen. “Y/N,” said my father beseechingly, his voice suddenly small, “you should be queen. Surely you see that. You wed a king, that’s…” he gestured loosely, “that’s how these things go. You’re going to advocate to be queen, yes? Because you’re a good daughter.”

“Let me be more clear.” Edmund grasped my hand, so tight it bordered on painful. “I said you do not command Narnia. As of yesterday, Y/N now belongs to Narnia.”

My heart contracted harshly, though at what aspect of that truth, I wasn’t sure.

My father huffed and puffed, clearly trying to cover the hole my husband just poked in his authority. “I…I…you still haven’t received her dowry!” he spluttered. 

“You can keep it,” Edmund replied roughly. Without waiting for my father’s response, he tugged me out of the room. 

Tongue-tied by what just happened, I numbly followed Edmund through the castle, holding up my skirt to keep up with my husband’s furious pace without tripping. I didn’t realize where he was going until he turned the corner leading to my drawing room. As soon as we crossed the threshold, Edmund let go of me. I slowed to a stop as he marched to the windows and braced his hands on the window sill, staring out. 

We stood in silence. 

What was I supposed to do? I’d never seen Edmund like this. Did he want space and silence to calm down? Did he need someone to talk to in order to ease his anger? I’d never talked someone through their anger before. I’d never even been allowed to show it to any degree close to how Edmund was showing it. 

Cautiously, I approached him. He must’ve heard me coming, but his stare didn’t waver. 

“Ed?” 

No response. 

I rested a light hand on Edmund’s shoulder, light enough that he could shake it off. He didn’t. I almost withdrew, my instincts on what was appropriate telling me to pull away. But Edmund and I weren’t merely friends anymore. We were allowed to do whatever felt natural, and in this moment, I wanted to help him more. 

Encouraged, I slid my hand to Edmund’s face, nudging it over to me so that I could see his expression. When I finally did see it, I almost shrunk away from him.

The contortion of his face around his dark eyes was startling. A vein stood out in his forehead, pulsing in a way that felt like his anger had replaced his blood and was now coursing through his system. 

Moving slowly, I stepped closer, using my thumbs to smooth out the wrinkled skin between his eyebrows. “Breathe,” I instructed. Edmund’s inhale caught in his chest multiple times before he had enough air to exhale. As he did, my hands slid gently down the sides of his face, pausing on his jaw. “Again,” I whispered, and he obeyed.

My hands moved to his shoulders, trying to draw the anger out of him with gentle touches. 

Edmund’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, one of his hands leaving the window sill to rest on my waist. “Are you okay?”

Is that what he was angry about?

Cupping his jaw to keep him in place, I pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I’m okay. You don’t need to be worried.”

His shoulders slouched, the final bit of tension leaving them. Both hands were on my waist now, using me to hold him up instead of the window. 

I bit my lip, the next issue presenting itself. “We need to make things right with my father.”

Edmund twisted, whipping his face out of my hands as both hands left me. “Why?” he spat. “He’s trying to take advantage of you.”

Me? Wasn’t he really trying to take advantage of Edmund?

Not important. 

“We won’t let that happen. We can smooth things over without a coronation.”

“He’s in the wrong,” Edmund grumbled. 

“I know he is, just like I know that you’re trying to protect me. But…you don’t have to prove yourself to me. I know who you are, just like I know who my father is. I don’t expect him to change because of a marriage, and I don’t want you to change because of a marriage.”

“But who I am is someone who will protect you,” Edmund argued. “I made a vow.”

“You won’t be breaking it by making sure that Narnia and Archenland still have good relations.”

Edmund scoffed, his eyes moving to stare out the window again. “Relations,” he muttered under his breath. “As if I care about relations.”

A little chuckle escaped me. “You do care about relations. Maybe not at the moment, but you do.”

His eyes took on a dazed glint. “How are you able to think rationally right now?” he whispered. “How is the anger not eating you up inside?”

“I’m not more rational than you are.” I sighed, brushing my hand against his chin again, and a little knot in my chest eased when he let me. “I simply gave up on him a long time ago.”

Edmund pursed his lips. “I want us to leave for Narnia today.”

I hesitated. 

I’d known we would leave eventually, but that eventuality seemed much farther away before the wedding. As much as I’d longed for Narnia, I’d never left this castle, nor known any other home than the one I’d been born in. 

But if this disastrous fallout with my father told us anything, it was that it was time for change. Time for my best friend and I to call the same place home.

“Alright, we can leave today.” I started for the door, already thinking of where to look for Rona to pack my things when something tugged on my hand. I looked down to see Edmund’s fingers interlacing with mine. Gently, he pulled me back to my spot beside him, not saying anything until I looked up at his face.

I could still see the residual anger in the worried skin between his eyebrows, but his eyes were remorseful. “I’m not trying to make a deal. Regardless of when we leave for Narnia…if you want me to apologize, I will.”

I felt as though my heart had fallen through the floor, only to spread wings and flutter off towards the sun. “How did I end up with a husband as good as you?” I murmured. 

Edmund’s mouth spread into a small smirk. “You said yes.”

That I had, in almost the exact spot in which we were standing. He’d poured his heart out to me, all the while his pleading eyes tugged at every part of me, stealing away any possible resistance. He had no idea how tightly my heart squeezed in my chest when he first said the words: ‘marry me’. Not the slightest idea that all my protests hadn’t been for my sake, but for his. 

How many sacrifices had he made for me since then? And what had I ever done to deserve such loyalty? 

“Edmund?” I said quietly. 

“Yeah?” came the immediate response. 

“I’ll go smooth things over with my father.” I squeezed his hand. “While I do that, you can make the arrangements for us to go home.”

“Home.” Edmund’s eyes sparkled. It seemed he liked the sound of that as much as I did. 

-

Edmund had far more success than I. 

I went to my father’s study, the library, the gardens, and the throne room before one of the stewards said my father had retreated to his bedchamber. When I knocked upon the closed door and entreated my father to open it so that we might talk, I received no response. I paced back and forth for what felt likes ages before I lost patience and tried the handle.

It was locked.

My father did not want to speak to me. 

Feeling down, I went to find Edmund, a task that proved much easier. 

Somehow, he’d almost finished working with Rona to pack all of my things, directing her away from the things which would be supplied to me upon reaching Cair Paravel. I stood awkwardly in my bedchamber as Edmund and Rona flitted back and forth. 

Rona left the room to grab a set of combs that she’d been polishing for me, and Edmund pulled a dress from my wardrobe and began folding it himself.

Cheeks burning, I whisked forward and plucked it from his hands. “You shouldn’t be doing that,” I muttered, quickly folding it and stashing it in one of my trunks. Edmund’s eyebrows pulled together in concern. “You have so many more important things to do than help me pack.”

At that, Edmund’s face stretched into a grin, and he laughed. My flush deepened as I closed the trunk, and I knew Edmund noticed it. 

“I’m not laughing at you,” he told me, still chuckling. 

“No?” I arched a brow. “Because it feels like you are.”

That seemed to sober him. “I’m sorry.” He reached for me, sliding his arms around my back to pull his reluctant wife into a hug. “But when are you going to learn that my most important things involve helping you however I can?” 

I let out a humph on principle, even though his response made my knees soften like butter in the sun. Rona returned, and Edmund respectfully released me before resuming his task with my lady-in-waiting. 

Within an hour, our things were all packed and being loaded onto the carriages and wagons the Narnian monarchs had brought with them. 

Dressed in my favorite riding habit, I walked with Edmund through the Great Hall, glancing around at it as we walked. There was history in this room. The corner I always liked in the wintertime because the meager sunshine would pass through the nearby window. The stairs on which I’d fallen and skinned my knees countless times. I’d never given much thought until now. When was the next time I’d see that window or those stairs?

“The carriages are ready, your majesty,” said one of the Narnian soldiers, a faun who fell into step beside us “We must leave soon if we wish to be back in Narnia before sundown.”

Edmund nodded and thanked him, before leaning closer to me. “Time to say our goodbyes.”

“We ought to wait for my father,” I said.

A flash of the earlier anger settled on Edmund’s face. “If we wait too much longer, we won’t make it before dark.” 

I gave a quick nod before approaching my brothers, who’d been watching the process of packing up the procession with great interest. As I walked closer to them with goodbye on my lips, my eyes started welling up with tears. I’d been separated from them before. Cor lived in Calormen for years, and Corin grew up attending events in Narnia and Calormen. But this time was different, because for the first time, I was the one leaving them behind. 

“You’ll write us, right?” Cor asked. His transition from peasant to prince hadn’t been easy, and he’d needed much help from me in the past few years, which must’ve been why he looked so worried. “And stay out of trouble, won’t you?”

“Of course. On both counts.” 

Corin placed his hands on my shoulders, looking me directly in the eye. “Get in as much trouble as you possibly can.” 

I laughed, pulling them both into a bone-crushing hug. “I’m going to miss you guys.” The twins held me just as tightly as I did them, and it seemed none of us wanted to be the first to let go. 

“Now, now, don’t make a scene,” said my father’s voice. 

Reluctantly, we separated, my brothers stepping away to allow my father forward. 

He was clearly still upset from the conversation at breakfast, I could see it in his face. But I was reservedly glad he’d come to see us off. Leaving at all was strange, but leaving without saying goodbye would’ve been far worse.

“Thank you,” I said softly, hoping my softness would soften him. I didn’t dare give him a hug, so I curtsied. A sign of respect, a gesture of my allegiance to the king of Archenland before all who watched. But the words I spoke were quiet because they weren’t performative. “I love you.” 

My father nodded. Say it back, I silently pleaded. I’m leaving. Please tell me you love me. King Loon opened his mouth, and my hopes rose. “I will see you in a few months.”

My hopes fell like doves stricken from the sky, and the winces on my brothers’ faces did not stop the free fall.

He could never love me in the way daughters ought to be loved by their fathers, if he even loved me at all. Something inside of him was so broken, so warped that he couldn’t give me what I needed from him. 

But I didn’t need him anymore. I folded my hands in front of me, staring into my father’s eyes. I will never curtsey to him again, I promised myself. “I left Mother’s crown in my bedchamber,” I told him. “It means more to you than to me.”

And with that, I turned to rejoin my husband. 

My father would most certainly retake my mother’s crown, holding onto what was quite possibly the last remnants of love in him. 

If I were ever to die, would Edmund break in the same way my father had broken? Would he shut himself off from those who loved him best, hiding behind locked doors? Sinking deeper into titles and formalities and pretension, all of which isolated him? 

I hoped not.

Edmund inclined his head to my father and brothers before leading me to two horses in the middle of the procession. 

One I recognized: my grey mare. The other must’ve been Edmund’s, a stallion of a deep reddish-brown with a white star on his forehead.  

“Your stallion is beautiful,” I said. 

The horse lifted his head and stared directly at me. “Thank you, your highness.”

My mouth fell open, and Edmund started chuckling at my gawking. “Y/N, this is Philip. Philip, Y/N.”

“You’re Philip?” I asked. “Oh, Edmund’s told me all about you!” Particularly their adventures that more often than not ended with Philip saving Edmund’s life. Of course, Edmund hadn’t mentioned that Philip was a horse. “I didn’t know you were staying with us.”

Philip tossed his head. “I wish I could’ve attended the nuptials, but I’m afraid your father declared the chapel for people only.” 

“What?” I blurted. He hadn’t mentioned that, let alone asked. Edmund’s face soured. He already knew this, I realized. I knew how hard it was not to have his older brother at his wedding, but my father hadn’t even allowed one of Edmund’s dear friends to attend? How was it possible that Edmund’s sacrifice for me kept growing?

Conflicted, I hadn’t even noticed Edmund had guided me to my mare until one of the Archenland soldiers stepped forward with the customary step to allow me to get up on horseback. But before the soldier could even set the step down, Edmund’s hands found my hips. “Jump,” he said.

I jumped. 

With the added momentum, Edmund easily got me up into the saddle. “It’s handy having a husband,” I said, smiling down at him as he guided my foot into the stirrup. 

Edmund grinned. “Well, I could hardly trust anyone else to take such good care of you.”

My cheeks warmed, and I ducked my head as Edmund checked that my other foot was securely in its position. He got onto Philip with a fluid ease that made me flush and avert my eyes.

“Forward!” the faun from earlier called, and slowly the whole procession stirred into motion. I glanced around, trying to locate where all my possessions were, but all I could see was how large the procession seemed. It hadn’t felt so grand when I’d watched Edmund arrive. I counted nearly a hundred Narnians, none of which I had seen in the castle.

Where had my father told them to stay? I dearly hoped he hadn’t condemned them all to stay in the stables; there was no way they could all fit. 

I turned to wave at my brothers, but we were far enough away from the castle that I noticed a figure on the topmost balcony, watching us depart. Proximity wasn’t needed; even if I couldn’t see the face, only one person at the castle would wear robes of such outrageous orange.

My lips curved up in a smile.

Checkmate, I silently told Prince Rabadash. 

But when my eyes lowered to see my brothers, standing right where I’d left them, my chest ached in a way it never did during victory. As if feeling the ache as well, my brothers lifted their hands, waving me off into my new life.

I sat forward again, brushing away a quick tear, my heart heavy. “At least I don’t have to say goodbye to you,” I whispered to my lady’s maid, who was riding behind me.

Rona smiled. “No, you don’t, your highness.” 

“Nor you,” I said, turning to look at Edmund, feeling suddenly shy.

“Never again,” Edmund said back, his hand leaving the reins to lace through mine.

-

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