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Caspian rummaged through the drawers built into the bulkheads. Queen Lucy had rearranged since he'd turned the cabin over to her. He’d also given up whatever clothing could be made to fit her, but there should still be some formal gear in here somewhere... He'd taken only sailing wear down to the cabin he and King Edmund now shared, not expecting to need the rest beyond the Lone Islands. But for dining with mysterious sorcerers -- and maybe Aslan, if he was staying -- something a little better than salt- and sun-worn slops was required.
He had just started changing when the cabin door swung open, very nearly clipping him on the way. He skipped aside and turned a glare on the sailor so brash as to forego knocking, only to freeze with his mouth open on a tart reprimand as his eyes locked with Queen Lucy’s.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, “I’m so terribly sorry!”
“No, no, the fault is mine,” Caspian said quickly. “I thought you were still ashore.” His brain slowly creaked back into gear, reminding him that he was standing there bare to the waist, shirt dangling uselessly from one hand. A blush crept into his cheeks, and he turned away. “I do apologize,” he said, scrambling to yank the shirt on but only tangling the sleeves hopelessly. “I ought to have returned to my cabin—”
Hands that were not his plucked at the shirt, untwisted the mess he had made of it. “This is your cabin,” Queen Lucy pointed out. “And really, Caspian, there’s no need to be so flustered. I’m not about to faint at the sight of your bare chest.”
His cheeks flamed hotter. “It’s not proper,” he began, but she only laughed.
“Telmarine manners,” she said, with a draping the tidied shirt over his arm. “There. Caspian, you’ve seen what fauns and centaurs wear — or don’t wear, really.”
That was true enough, although lately there were few who didn’t at least don a jerkin at court. Caspian supposed it was only natural, now that the Narnians no longer needed to hide in the woods like bandits, but could live openly like any other civilized people. And anyway, there was a vast difference between how fauns lived amongst themselves and how a gentleman ought to comport himself in front of a noble lady.
On the heels of that thought, he felt two bright points of heat against his skin: Queen Lucy’s fingers, lightly touching a thick scar winding its way up from his hip to his ribs. “This is new,” she said, a tiny furrow forming between her brows.
He glanced down, not that he really needed to look. “The campaign against the giants, last year.”
She tutted. “You and Peter, honestly.” Caspian thought her tone a bit scornful for such a compliment, to be compared to the High King, but he supposed sisters were allowed a different view on the matter. Her frown deepened. He curled his fingers more tightly around the shirt, stamping down the urge to smooth away that line. “The cordial shouldn’t leave scars like this.”
“Cordial?” Caspian echoed, dragging his thoughts away from contemplation of her face. “Oh! But of course I did not use it.”
She looked up, her eyes wide and blue and concerned and he promptly lost his train of thought again. “Whyever not?”
Not? Oh, the cordial. “I would not dare,” he said carefully, “to waste something so precious.”
Lucy shook her head. “It’s meant to be used, Caspian. It doesn’t do any good sitting on a shelf somewhere.” She paused, and her hand dropped to the vial that was always at her waist. His skin missed the warmth immediately. “Why did you bring it, if not to use it? For that matter, why take it so far from Narnia?”
“Well, I…” Caspian fumbled for words. He could hardly tell her the truth: that he kept all their relics close, always. It was — or had been, before she and King Edmund had suddenly appeared again — the last link he had to the Kings and Queens of old, whom he had taken for his guide and measure in this business of ruling, which turned out to be far more complicated than a sheltered prince could guess. A king should not need such touchstones, like a child clinging to a security blanket, and yet he could not bear to give them up. She was right, though; truly he’d had no business risking such treasures on a voyage like this. Trufflehunter had argued with him over it, but Caspian had blithely overruled the Badger.
“I did not know what condition we might find the seven lords in,” he said, drawing on one of the reasons he’d presented then. “And also I thought perhaps it would make a better showing in our early ports, for Narnia has long been out of touch with the islands and we meant to establish diplomatic relations. You saw how the Lone Islands had become,” he added. “I had not thought it would be quite so troubled, I confess.”
“I suppose you needed all you could muster,” Queen Lucy agreed. “The Lone Islands were horrid.”
Tentatively, Caspian ventured, “Was it not the same for you? After the Winter, I mean.”
“Oh, no,” she answered. “Well, not very much. Everyone was very pleased the Winter was over, you see. We did have some trouble with other countries — Calormen was awful, of course, they’ve always hated Narnia — but Galma was glad to have us back, and the Lone Islands were still grateful about the dragon, you know.”
“It was not the same sort as we encountered, was it?”
“Oh, no, nothing like, I think,” she replied. “Certainly it didn’t transform anyone like poor Eustace!”
“Poor me?” said that ex-dragon, making Lucy and Caspian both jump. The boy stood in the doorway, staring curiously at them. He continued, “How long does is take a girl to get dressed, anyway? We were supposed to go back ages ago.”
“Do you not knock before entering a lady’s chamber?” Caspian exclaimed. Really, the boy’s manners were atrocious.
“Me?” Eustace said. “You’re the one standing about half-naked, I’ll have you know.”
Caspian glanced down automatically, and his face flamed. They’d been so deeply engaged in conversation, he had completely forgotten the shirt that had started it all. Now he yanked it over his head quickly, then bustled Eustace out the door.
“Leave the lady to her quarters,” he told the protesting boy. “They won’t start supper without us.” He reached back to shut the door behind them, and caught Queen Lucy’s eye once more. She smiled, setting his nerves fluttering, and he dropped hastily into a bow to cover his confusion. “M’queen.”
Giggling, she returned a curtsy with more grace than the sailor’s garb she wore should have allowed. “I’ll hurry,” she promised, touching her fingers to her lips to blow a kiss. Caspian quickly shut the door, before he might be tempted to discover whether that was flirtation or play. “Come, Eustace,” he said hastily, clapping the boy on the shoulder. “We shall wait by the boats.”