Unfortunately, no sea glass was to be found that morning, but Lucy assured Cordelia that she could have some of hers and Peter’s, if she could only remember where they had tucked their collection away. They returned to the dining hall for lunch, where High King Peter joined them, looking quite pleased with himself.

“I suppose the ‘kingdom affairs’ worked themselves out, did they?” Edmund inquired smoothly with a nudge in the ribs.

Peter glared and answered, “Yes, they did."

“Perfect! Then you can join us for a ride this afternoon,” Susan suggested. There was a prodding in her voice, though, that Peter was at least clever enough to pick up on, a reminder that he had a duty to their guests, the children of his friend.

“I wouldn’t dream of missing it, Su.” He seemed much changed from that morning, brighter and friendlier. He asked a faun – the creatures seemed to run the palace -- if they might have horses ready by the end of the meal. Cordelia watched the creature waddle off, curious to know why fauns had never settled in Alsatchia and whether or not they would like it there.

During the meal, Cordelia listened mainly to Caedmon and Edmund chatter on about some catapult plans. She was glad the two had found something to connect over; in fact, it was Edmund specifically that her wise father had thought might do Caedmon some good. She watched the red mop on her brother’s head bob with his shakes and nods, his dark eyes illuminated by some suggestion Edmund had made. It seemed like only yesterday they had been bound and nameless, and it felt strange how quickly things had returned to normal.

The same faun from earlier entered to announce, “Your majesty High King, the horses are ready.” So down they went to the stables, where all except King Peter’s horse had been saddled.

“Prefer bareback, do you?” Drystan inquired, hoisting himself onto a beautiful chestnut mare. “Can’t say I blame you, though . . . you remember, Cordelia, what you and Kearney used to say about bareback riders?”

Cordelia laughed before tugging her own horse ahead, “I do, though I certainly won’t be repeating it in mixed company, much less the presence of the High King.”

“You’re awful, Delia,” Moira shook her head, but Cordelia giggled, glad that the High King looked curious, and fell into step beside her sister as Peter and Drystan led the way.

The horseback tour was grand indeed, and Cordelia found herself thinking less and listening more as Peter and Susan explained things to them, such as the planting of the gardens, the movement of the forest, the different wild flowers that sometimes reached clear up to Cordelia’s ankles. Peter might be rather aloof, but he certainly knew his kingdom, and the pride was clear on his face. He seemed determined that King Lir’s children should understand just how wonderful a place Narnia was.

‘Well, Alsatchia is a wonderful place, too,’ Cordelia mused to herself, and felt a slight pang of homesickness for her father. But suddenly Caedmon was throwing a balled up dandelion at her, which caught in her hair and hung there until she playfully demanded he pull it out. Already he seemed a bit better, and she was glad they had come.

To call Peter ‘aloof’ was to do him a bit of an injustice, but of course Cordelia had no way yet of knowing his motives or thoughts. The truth was that he was just having a moody day. He had been cranky that morning and in no temper to entertain guests. Drystan was well and good, but he had anticipated the personalities of the siblings to the point of dreading their arrival, almost wishing they wouldn’t show.

Then in had marched quiet Caedmon and sweet Moira and Cordelia, whatever sort of creature she was. Beautiful, but otherwise intangible. He saw her and instantly resented her, and wasn’t really sure why. He kept his attention focused on Drystan for breakfast, and then felt it very important that he not go to the beach, but rather be tied up with the vague kingdom affairs. Of course, as Edmund knew, as Susan and Lucy quietly knew, and as Cordelia secretly suspected because it was in her nature, there were no kingdom affairs, or at least none so pressing that he need miss a beach trip. Here there been, Edmund would have stayed behind as well. Rather, Peter wanted to write to King Lir and let him know his children had arrived safely, and to write an inquiry about finding a tutor for Lucy because he sure didn’t want her growing up uneducated, and perhaps to do a few push ups in his room. But the vagueness of kingdom affairs would be more impressive to the children of Lir, and help provide the air of importance. After all, he was their father’s peer.

An afternoon ride sounded pleasant enough, and he wondered if it might not improve his mood, help him shake off whatever shadow had latched itself onto his back. It did, but it didn’t. Talking about Narnia cheered him, but Cordelia’s innocent comment comparing their forests to the forests of Alsatchia depressed him. After supper, Susan and he both decided he was too cranky to do anyone any good – though she certainly didn’t have the right to say so – and he feigned early retirement, again apologizing to their guests and promising to be freer the next day.

His absence was not much felt by Lir’s children, who were amused, if nothing else, by the young Queen Lucy’s insistence that they trade stories. She told of sailing to Archenland the previous year to visit King Lune, and the great party that had been had on board the ship; Cordelia told about a masquerade ball in which Drystan accidentally proposed marriage to a girl thinking she was someone else.

“But you aren’t betrothed, are you?” Susan asked, having been completely unaware of this before.

Drystan laughed, “No, of course not. I was simply drunk enough that I thought I might want to be at that moment, though certainly not to that girl . . .”

“Yes, Princess Persephone really is something frightful . . .” Moira conceded.

It was Edmund’s turn to chuckle as he demanded, “Princess Persephone? You mean from Telmar? Well maybe Peter was telling the truth, then . . . she seemed to think he had proposed to her too.”

“Yes, that was an awful mess,” Susan nodded. “He hadn’t at all. They hadn’t even spoken two sentences together! She said it was something in the way he looked at her . . .”

Cordelia laughed outright, “I suppose some men must just have that sort of power in their gaze . . . but at any rate, that would have been horrible. High King Peter and Queen Perspehone?”

“Peter and Persephone,” Lucy made a face. “They could have named their children . . . Poppy and Petunia.”

“Pevensie!” Edmund added, slapping his leg with amusement. “Can you imagine? Peter and Persephone Pevensie and their children Poppy and Petunia Pevensie . . .”

“Petunia!” Cordelia laughed, throwing her head back to reveal the pink inside of her throat. “Pretty flower, awful name.”

“Alas, poor Poppy and Petunia were just not meant to be,” Susan sighed, clearly not at all upset by this.

Moira, to re-steer the conversation, insisted, “But Drystan really did propose to her. Down on one knee and everything. Then he yelled ‘oops, wrong girl!’ and ran away.”

“You’re a real charmer, aren’t you,” Edmund snorted, which made Drystan roar with laughter.

Eventually, much earlier than was typical, the guests claimed exhaustion and stumbled up the stairs to collapse in the most ornate guestrooms Cair Paravel had to offer. Cordelia found her room wedged between Caedmon and Moira, but seeing as the latter was snoring before the candles were blown out, she knocked at and entered Caedmon’s room to find him lying on the ground on the balcony outside, simply staring up at the starry sky. She threw herself down beside him and let her gaze join his.

“Do you like it here?” she asked after a while.

He paused, then nodded, “For a while, at least. I don’t know that I would want to live here. So much open space . . .”

“That’s true. The forest is very cozy. But still, it is a nice place to be for a while, for a little holiday, you know?”

There followed a heavy silence broken at last by Caedmon propping himself up on his elbow to insist, “You don’t have to pretend, you know. I’m not stupid. I know Father sent us here for me.”

“I know you’re not stupid and I’m not pretending anything. He didn’t entirely. It’s partly for me, too.”

“No. You’re fine, aren’t you? You’ve weathered everything just fine . . .” The momentary outburst quickly drained itself in the presence of his sister, his twin. He lay back down and took her hand in his, bouncing her tiny fingers against his smooth palm. He had felt clumsy in himself ever since his growth spurt a few years previous, when suddenly he became a man and she stayed a small dainty lady.

“You of all people know that’s not true, Caed.”

“No, I know. I don’t know why I said that. You are better than me, but I guess not absolutely fine. But anyways, you’re right. This is a good place to holiday. Father knew what he was on about, I guess. He sure thinks highly of this Peter fellow.”

“High King Peter,” Cordelia giggled. “Get it right.”

“Ah, you noticed that too? Of course you did, little spy. You notice everything. They all seem good, though. I think Father’s right to admire them.”

“Do you?”

“Do you not?”

“Oh, I’m not saying that,” Cordelia shrugged. “They seem nice enough. And I can see why Jasper was so eager to come back here. You think we might leave him when we go home? He might like that.”

“So might Elinor. She seems a bit shy towards King Edmund, don’t you think?”

Cordelia laughed, “Caedmon, you’re as awful as a girl. But she did blush when he asked her to pass the rolls at supper. I’m afraid King Edmund would have to come with us, though, because I love Elinor too much to just let her go.”

“Even if she falls in love?”

“Even then,” Cordelia insisted, but Caedmon was probably the only person in the world that knew for sure whether she was serious or not. “Edmund and Elinor . . . well that’s not quite as bad as Peter and Persephone.”

“. . . and Poppy and Petunia! I think you like these kings and queens more than you’re going to want to admit,” Caedmon prodded, nudging her in the side with his elbow. “You who were so determined not to like them . . .”

“I wasn’t determined not to like them! I just . . . didn’t much feel like leaving home just then, just when we got home, it felt like.”

Caedmon paused before admitting, “Well me either, but we did and now here we are.”

“Wow, you’re really deep, Caedmon, did you know that?”

“Shut up,” he laughed. “Deep as that sea.” Cordelia sat up to gaze out at the black expanse, white caps occasionally breaking the shadowy mass as the waning crescent moon above cast only a pale glow to differentiate the sky. Lucy had commented before going to bed that the stars weren’t as bright as they could be.

“Not tonight, but at some point I think I’ll swim naked in that sea.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Just because you said that, I think I have to now.”

“Moira would kill you,” he laughed. “She’s such a dutiful ambassador.”

“And I’m such an awful one. Instead of kingdom ties, I just keep thinking how badly I’d like to gift the high king a lip salve.”

“What!”

“His lips, haven’t you noticed? They’re awful chapped.”

“You’re awful chapped! Go to bed,” Caedmon laughed, pushing himself to his feet. He offered his hand and easily pulled his smaller sister to her feet, her long curls bouncing at the movement.

“I don’t mean it critically, they just are!”

“Uh huh. And what were you doing staring at his lips then?”

Cordelia just laughed at his vague accusation, amused by its clear lack of foundation. Standing on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek – hadn’t it been only yesterday that she was taller than him? – off she bounded to her own bedroom, glad to find that Elinor had seen to it that her nightgown was laid out just as she liked it at home.

Peter clamped the lid back down on the box of sea glass and wandered back to his own bedroom.