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After Rabadash, this ought to have come as a relief, but Susan still wasn’t sure. First of all, the logic behind marrying a princess for political stability was inherently flawed – Susan not only could not reproduce (and therefore strengthen political bonds) with another woman, but she was certain she couldn’t fall in love with one, either.
It was something she thought a lot about as she and her siblings moved forward with the process, Lucy noting who looked kind and who looked cruel in their portraits, as if that would stop them making the same mistake again.
She didn’t protest overtly, though. Narnia needed allies – especially after the incident in Calormen – and she knew she had to do what was best for Narnia. She also knew that if she protested, her brothers would step in and marry whoever they had to to establish an alliance – and she couldn’t let that happen. There was no way.
No; she’d do it herself. It was only fair. She’d been the one to start the entire mess with Rabadash, after all.
Susan didn’t let on to anyone, though her siblings surely knew something was wrong. Only Edmund asked, and Susan merely told him that he was looking too deeply into things and went up to her meeting in the high tower.
With these impending nuptials, sometimes, late at night, Susan would think back to certain girls she’d known back in that Other Place, to the dryads and naiads at bacchanals, and start to think that maybe she was wrong; that maybe this was the best option. Surely no one could be worse than Rabadash, after all, even if Susan did wonder where her siblings came up with the idea that she might be attracted to a woman (but then again, she didn’t share Lucy’s interest in men, and Edmund was always rather quiet when girls were brought up – though Susan knew why that was; doubtlessly, he thought the same of her, but he wasn’t right… was he?)
When the thoughts became too much to bear, she’d have a bath drawn and focus on washing her hair thoroughly; she was proud of her hair, and it gave her something else to focus on over unpleasant thoughts. She’d anoint it with scented oils and braid it before bed; when she woke up and readied for the day, it would flow in elegant waves down to her waist.
This was how she wore her hair to her wedding. Lucy and Velvet, a Talking Fox, helped her gather flowers and weave them into her hair. When she looked in the looking glass, she thought she was even more beautiful than normal. (It wasn’t arrogant to find herself beautiful; it was objective. It wasn’t as if she thought that made her better than anyone else. It simply was, and Susan had grown to accept it.)
Her dress was made of fine lace and silk, and when Edmund poked his head into the room where she was getting ready, he grinned. “You look lovely, Su.”
“Thanks,” Susan said. “I still can’t believe…”
“Neither can I,” Edmund agreed. “It’s not too late, if you’re overwhelmed.”
Susan shook her head. “Absolutely not. I’ve accepted it. I’ll be fine. Who knows… perhaps something will even develop.”
She said it for Edmund’s sake, but something pestered her about those girls she’d known before. It was nothing. It had to be nothing.
Edmund didn’t return her smile. “Susan.”
“Stop worrying, Ed,” Susan insisted firmly. The last thing she needed was Edmund torpedoing (a strange word that brought back memories of that Other Place) international relations, especially so close on the heels of the Calormene disaster. She really would be fine; she might not fall in love, but she’d accepted that as a possibility ages ago.
Edmund still looked doubtful, but he inclined his head. “If you say so.”
“I do. Now, I believe you’re needed down on the beach.”
The procession was a strange one, even by Narnian standards. Susan rode in on her horse (a dumb one, not a talking one), with a small flock of blackbirds carrying her veil behind her. At the altar, right on the beach, stood her betrothed, and oh.
Susan suddenly felt flustered.
Could she really go through with this? She had no other choice. She was right, after all: calling off the wedding now would be disastrous to international relations and to Narnian legitimacy overall.
They had to make it clear that Rabadash had been the one in the wrong; that Susan and Edmund and the rest of the Narnians had only done what was right and needed.
And she knew that was the truth, of course, but it made the marriage a bit more pressing. What was more, as Peter helped Susan off her horse and to the altar.
Susan had seen paintings of her betrothed, of course. It was common practice. However, paintings were inherently flattering. No one wanted to be painted in such a way that made them look undesirable, especially when one was trying to make an advantageous match – particularly when one was trying to make such an advantageous match with someone of Susan’s famed beauty.
She expected her betrothed to be… not ugly, of course, because the portrait had been lovely, but… plain. Normal.
The woman in front of her was anything but.
She had chestnut hair that cascaded past her shoulders in elegant curls, sparkling grey eyes, and smooth, flawless light brown skin. Susan had known that, of course, and she’d known her general appearance – her full lips and soft jaw and delicate nose – but seeing her in person… if anything, the portrait artist had done her a disservice. There was even a rainbow behind her, for Aslan’s sake!
“Queen Susan,” she greeted.
“Princess Amala. It’s so lovely to make your acquaintance.” In more ways than one.
Aslan’s mane, this woman was going to be her wife. Susan knew what that entailed, of course; at some point, they’d have to consummate their marriage, and her betrothed’s dress left very little to the imagination when it came to her curves.
Susan felt her cheeks heat, like she was a silly – what was the word? schoolgirl? – again; a condition which only worsened when Princess Amala smiled warmly at her and said, “I feel much the same.”
She’d never felt like this before, which was ridiculous. Then again, maybe it boded well, as this woman was moments away from becoming her wife. Susan couldn’t take her eyes off of her through the entire ceremony, over which Aslan himself presided. It should have made her feel nervous – there was no hiding from Aslan, after all – but instead, it instilled her with a sense of calm. Peace.
Even as she exchanged gold bands with Princess Amala and vowed to be wedded until death were to part them – there was, after all, no divorce for a king or queen, even though it existed for the common people (something for which Susan had been wholly in favour, really).
When it was time to lean in for their first kiss, Susan felt a jolt of – what was that word? electricity? Truly the Other Place was so strange! – course through her. Princess Amala’s lips were soft and full and pliant and Susan had never felt like this kissing any man. Her stomach erupted with butterflies, and… and Lucy was looking at her knowingly when she pulled away.
Aslan pronounced them wed, so they moved to the reception.
Susan loved dancing, and she was grateful for the distraction. The first dance involved everyone, and as Susan moved with each of her siblings in turn, she felt happy. It was strange; she didn’t expect to feel happy today.
She expected… she didn’t know. Not sadness; no, she knew better than to feel that. Resignation, perhaps? The sense of something bittersweet? But instead… whenever she glanced at Princess Amala, she felt another rush of butterflies in her stomach and a heat to her cheeks.
“I take it you really are all right,” Edmund said in her ear.
“I told you I would be,” Susan said, projecting far more confidence than she actually felt. But it would be fine. It really would be, except… Susan was realising that she had no idea how to consummate a marriage to another woman.
She knew the basics of consummating the relationship with a man, of course, even if she’d never done it herself (out of more disinterest rather than a lack of opportunity, but it was a good thing, in the end – no baby to trap her into a marriage).
But a woman… she had no idea.
And she knew better than to try to ask Edmund.
Maybe one of the naiads or dryads would know. They seemed the type; she’d seen a few of them go off together during bacchanals. It couldn’t hurt to ask, really, but at the same time… how would she get one alone on her wedding night?
It was ridiculous to think about this. She wasn’t going to do anything tonight but sleep. It had been an utterly exhausting day in many ways, and, as beautiful as her wife was, she wanted to sleep peacefully in her own bed. She hardly thought anyone would be able to fault her for that.
Maybe there would be a chance to ask tomorrow, in that case.
Yes; she’d ask tomorrow. And hopefully, she wouldn’t look like an ingenue. If she did, though, there was little to be done about that.
“I’m happy for you,” Edmund said, bringing Susan back to the present. “You know I was willing to marry if you were remotely uncomfortable with the idea.”
“I know,” Susan said. And she did. Her siblings would do anything for her; they would move the earth and stars themselves if it meant helping her, and she would do the same for them.
She had a sense that it hadn’t always been this way, but she shut that down.
Here and now, it was, and that was what mattered.
“Well, go on and talk to your wife,” Edmund said. “I expect I’ll join you in wedded bliss before the year is out.”
That caught Susan’s attention. “Oh? And who could be so lucky as to catch your eye.”
Edmund blushed. “It’ll be political, you see.”
“Of course,” Susan agreed. “Political as the prince of Telmar?”
Edmund’s blush deepened, and he coughed. “We… do get on quite well.”
Susan rested her hand on his arm. “I do want you to be happy, Ed. Whatever that means for you.”
“And I for you,” he said with a smile. “Now go on.”
So Susan did. She approached Amala and asked her to dance. As they moved together across the dancefloor, Susan had the feeling this wouldn’t be quite so bad.