“You are bored, Princess?” Cordelia looked over her shoulder at the address to see that King Peter had just entered the library door near her. Elinor tried to hide her annoyance at the voices; she seemed to have gotten it into her head that no one should be allowed to talk inside of a library where others might be reading.

Cordelia didn’t know how to answer him without sounding rude so she shrugged, “The weather makes me restless.” What she didn’t say was that, after being confined with her brother in a small dark space for so long, even simply being confined indoors for a day made her uncomfortable. She wanted to feel like her options were open, like she could go for a walk whenever she well pleased.

“I am sorry Cair Paravel cannot hold your interest on a day such as this,” he apologized, and the insinuation made Cordelia stand tall and lift her chin. He hadn’t consciously meant to offend her, so he offered lamely, “I can understand your restlessness, though. Narnia is wonderful to explore at his time of year. Perhaps tomorrow will be better . . . but look, even now the clouds are breaking. You might go for a short ride before the storm picks up again, if it does.” He wasn’t sure what he was saying any more because something about the way she was looking at him as she listened made him forget that his mouth was moving. He wasn’t sure if that was out of admiration, which Susan would no doubt argue, or annoyance. She seemed to be studying him, scrutinizing his every feature, staring through his skin to his pink insides. Probably she was staring at his lips again. He felt himself growing angry.

“With you?” she asked. Now it was his turn to stand tall and square his shoulders because he had suddenly become too aware of his lips to listen to her tone of voice. He couldn’t remember if she sounded pleased by the idea or insulted or amused.

Gripping his tunic to keep from picking at his lips, he insisted, “Ah, no, I’m afraid I can’t . . . you see, I’ve got—“

“Important kingdom affairs,” she nodded. “Always. I remember.” Again, he wasn’t sure how to take her comment. She really was rather confusing, and by that, he meant infuriating. Turning to the girl sitting in the chair nearby, Cordelia asked, “Elinor, will you come with me?”

“I suppose.”

“No, nevermind. You’re enjoying your book. I’ll find Moira.” Without a further word to either one of them, Cordelia strode from the room. Peter chewed his lip and went off to find something to do. When were they leaving again?

Cordelia found Moira moping around their bedroom wing and easily convinced her to go for a short ride. No one else seemed willing to risk the rain except Drystan, but Moira decided it would be better just the girls so they chased Drystan off. Then suddenly Elinor appeared, wanting to go because she didn’t want Cordelia to be cross with her, though her mistress insisted she didn’t mind. Off the three girls set to wander for a bit.

“We can’t go far because I don’t fancy being caught in the rain, either,” Cordelia insisted, and Moira readily agreed.

They rode in silence for some time, just enjoying the freshness of the air so soon after a solid rain. The sky was still a heavy grey, but more sunlight was filtering through the emptier clouds, and the grass glistened a bright green, waterlogged.

Finally Moira mused, “That Mr. Tumnus is quite a silly little thing, I think. He takes himself quite seriously, you know, but I have a hard time taking any of the fauns seriously. They’re quite cute.”

“That’s true. I haven’t spoken to him much. He seems sincere, though, and very eager to make himself helpful.”

“You’re right, of course.”

“Of course,” Cordelia laughed. “Because what are we to do, Moira, but observe and then gossip about what we observe? Ah, to be a princess of Alsatchia is such a difficult task!” She gave a dramatic sigh and feigned swooning with her hand to her forehead.

Moira shook her head, “You are something else, Delia. Though it’s true enough you’ve got nothing to do. You can’t stitch and you tire of books too quickly. You can’t really do anything.”

“Hey! I can sing and dance just fine.”

“Well then you might as well sing and dance all the time, but that’s not what you do at all. Like pulling teeth it is, to get you to sing, and I really don’t understand. You have a lovely voice.”

“Why thank you.”

“But come on. You’re an observer. The king, what do you think of him?” Moira inquired, swaying with the movement of Burnea beneath her. They were apparently far enough from Cair Paravel, not really paying much mind to their distance, that Moira felt safe asking it.

“Which one?”

“You know which one.”

“Oh, High King Peter,” Cordelia mused, her mouth twisting into a simultaneously amused and condescending smile.

“Why do you say it like that? I feel maybe that answers my question right there!”

Cordelia laughed and nodded that this might be true, then admitted, “Well I haven’t spent enough time to pass any judgments. Only . . . I feel so old beside him, you know? At home I am coddled and spoiled, yet here I feel positively maternal.”

“Maternal!”

“Oh, you know. Grandmotherly. Like I should be patting the High King’s head and cutting his meats for him.” Moira laughed outright at her dear sister’s audacity, shaking her head at the vividness of the image. But then, Cordelia always had been great with images.

“I’m sure I don’t understand. He seems charming enough to me.”

“I don’t mean that he’s not charming. Only that he knows he’s charming. Doesn’t he strike you the same way, like a little boy wearing his father’s armor and pretending to battle with the big boys?”

Moira caught a drifting leaf, balled it up, and threw it at Cordelia where it snagged in her red braid. Really she was being most cruel and overly critical of the High King. But then, she was right. King Peter was the least affable of the siblings, which somehow made him seem the least secure and capable. He was always jaunting around on official business, and that gave him the air of not really knowing what he was on about.

“With him, everything is serious, everything is dramatic. Even choosing whether to have red tea or black tea at tea time seems a matter of life and death!” Cordelia teased, holding her hand up for agreement. Moira nodded; she, as usual, was spot on with her character analysis. “I mean, even his name. High King Peter this, High King Peter that. Does he need constant reassurance that he is indeed the highest king in the land? Or does he just like the sound of it? I don’t understand why he can’t just be Peter, or at least King Peter.”

“But that’s propriety for you, and not really his fault. Even our best friends at home are required to call us Princesses Moira and Cordelia when Papa is around.”

Cordelia nodded, “I know, and perhaps that’s just the thing. Logically, this King Peter is the same rank as Papa, and yet I simply cannot respect them as being on the same level.”

“They say King Peter is a valiant warrior and noble leader. He’s led troops into several major battles by this point and won them all.”

“Yes, but good leadership is only part of the battle. I mean, a terrible leader can still win a war if his warriors are capable.”

“Well . . . well, I hope you won’t say any of this to anyone, particularly not your brothers.”

“Because it’s treason?”

“No,” and here Moira giggled, “because I’m afraid they might tease him about it all.”

“So you agree with me then?”

“Well it’s difficult, I understand. I mean, King Peter is two years younger than I am, and I still think of myself as a child. But off of him, since you’re basing all of this on what . . . three sentences shared with him. What about the rest of the royals? What do you think of them?”

Cordelia thought carefully before answering, “I think King Edmund’s lack of the ‘high’ title, and his ability to have a good laugh, actually make him a better ruler. King Peter gets too caught up in the grand scheme of things, I think, which is of course important. But King Edmund actually knows the people more. He’s a child too, of course, but he seems to embrace that. He’s not as moody, either, though from what I’ve heard, he used to be much worse.”

“Well I agree he’s freer and more approachable, but he’s not tied up in meetings all the time.”

“He attends all the same meetings that King Peter does. He just doesn’t take them as seriously. He keeps business in the business room and then goes out to laugh and frolick and enjoy. King Peter takes his work to bed with him. King Edmund, though, lacks the grand picture, of course. He’s not quite as grand or daring as King Peter. King Peter can see the picture as a whole and King Edmund can paint in the details. He’s not quite as charismatic when it comes to leadership, I suppose. If all the glory stories are right, I mean.”

“That sounds lovely. And the girls?”

“Oh, they’re both lovely, I think. I mean, Queen Lucy really is just a child. She’s what, thirteen? She’s silly. Kind of bossy and argumentative, but her heart is big and she truly seems to care about everyone. Queen Susan is so definitively their mother. I bet she can be bossy and overbearing, but she’s so very maternal and sympathetic and cautious.”

“So then you like these royals?”

“Well I’m sure that I don’t dislike them. Yes, I think I rather like them. It’s an interesting dynamic, I think, having four rulers at once, and all siblings like that. I’m sure people think the same oddness in our family, though.”

Cordelia nodded, “Yes. Our family is very traditional royalty, you have to keep in mind, though. Our kingdom is very traditional. These Narnians are most certainly a different breed.”

Elinor, who had until this point remained silently trailing the two ladies, finally spoke up, “I suppose I agree with you both, though I think High King Peter far more charming than you give him credit for. I’m sure if you weren’t so intimidating in your appearance and voice, he would be more available.”

Cordelia gave her a suspicious look and admitted, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Moira laughed and nodded, “That’s probably true. You say he behaves like a high king but you certainly behave like a princess. And come, it wouldn’t be such a stress to think he’s just knocked silly by your beauty.”

“Ha!” Cordelia laughed, throwing her head back so that her braid danced against the horse’s body. “I appreciate that, but I’m really not that lovely. I--”

Then suddenly Cordelia’s horse had stumbled and sent her pitching forward in the dirt. Before Moira or Elinor could giggle at her misfortune, though, they caught sight of the arrow protruding grotesquely from the horse’s neck as it whinnied and kicked, sprawled out on the dir.

“Cordelia!” Moira shrieked, pointing to the horse. Another arrow shot through the air, this time landing in the dirt very near Cordelia’s foot. She yelped and leapt up, glancing around wildly to see where the shots were coming from. The nearby treeline suddenly released three more arrows that became increasingly closer, and Cordelia froze in panic.

This time Elinor screamed, “Princess, come on! Come on!” It was enough to bring Cordelia back to the here and now; quickly she leapt onto the horse behind Elinor as at least a dozen men suddenly broke from the treeline and began racing towards them. The arrows continued to whiz inches from the girls’ heads as they raced with all their might back towards Cair Paravel.

By the time they were within sight, someone from the upper decks had seen them and centaur guards were rushing out to confront the men chasing them. The skirmish was quick, and most of the men retreated, but one was killed and one was captured.

The girls were oblivious to this, of course. They fell off their horses in the courtyard while the Narnian royals, Drystan, and Caedmon came sprinting down the stairs, alarmed by the shouts that there had been an attack. Caedmon grabbed hold of Cordelia as soon as he reached her and crushed her to his chest.

“What happened?” King Peter demanded.

Cordelia and Elinor were gasping, Elinor crying just the tiniest bit, which left only Moria to try and explain, “We were just . . . just riding and then they shot the horse out from under Cordelia and but we thought she just fell but . . . then they started shooting at us—“

“Are any of you hurt?” Lucy gasped, rushing forward as though to inspect herself.

Moira and Elinor shook their heads, but Caedmon cried, “Cordelia, you’re bleeding!”

Lucy and Susan started, but Cordelia insisted, “No, no, I’m fine. I just got bumped and scratched when I fell . . . I don’t think they were trying to hurt us.”

“Why do you say that?” King Peter asked.

“Because they could have if they wanted to. I . . . I don’t know, but they could have shot us, couldn’t they? And they didn’t.”

Ed moved to stand beside his brother and watch as the centaurs brought the body and the hostage into the courtyard, nodding, “She’s got a point. They could have.”

Elinor began to cry harder and Moira hugged her tightly, “I should have just read my book!”

“Oh hush, Elinor,” Cordelia snapped. “Just think of that poor horse . . .” She seemed genuinely concerned about the dead horse, and that made Lucy feel a growing fondness of Cordelia, a fondness that had been a bit stunted thus far.

Susan patted Elinor’s back and insisted, “Well come inside, we’ll get you taken of, Cordelia, and see about some cakes and juice. The boys can take care of—come on.” She seemed eager to put as much distance between herself and the man being held behind them as possible. Peter and Ed were already walking closer to ask the centaur for a report, and Drystan of course followed them.

“You’re one of the boys,” Cordelia insisted when Caedmon appeared torn between being a man and being a brother. “I’ll be fine. Just a little scratched.” So he went with the boys while Susan and Lucy led the girls into the castle, Lucy stroking Cordelia’s hand and assuring her they would find the horse’s body and give it a good burial, even if it hadn’t been a talking horse.

It was the first casualty of war, after all.

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