For King and Country ⭒Caspian x Reader⭒

Chapter 7

Rinse and repeat. The weeks ticked by the same way as our initial visit to Ettinsmoor had. Arriving at Duchess, Duke, Lady, and Lord's estates and being greeted with hostility at my presence, and then building an alliance based on how well they could stomach my presence.

Word spread across Narnia like wildfire that the Vidalian princess was in league with the king, and my presence wasn't a surprise to most households. On a couple of visits, we were stopped up the road from the estate by Noble's guards and told that the King and his company could proceed, but my presence wasn't welcomed any farther than where they stood.  At that, Caspian would turn our caravan around and proclaim, "If she is not welcome, then neither am I." and we would trail off into the Narnian wilds again.

The days of traveling were hard on our bodies. Aching from either being jostled in a carriage all day or sore from being pressed into a saddle, but the nights-the nights were good.  The camp came alive at sunset. Flutes, lyres, and lutes were pulled out for joyous nights surrounding the fire. Our convoy knew my true identity yet had taken me in as just a maiden traveling along with them, and I could be just that while letting my skirts swish around my ankles and my feet prance to the melodic sounds.

One of those summer nights, we did as we always did, carrying on around the bonfire dancing, singing folk songs, and telling stories as the moon cast its silvery glow down upon us. Faces were flush from the wineskins being passed around and spirits were high. Our last stop in the morning was to Anvard, the capital of Archenland, then we would return to Cair Paravel to continue war preparations.

I stumbled into my tent that night still giggling over how a lady faun had tried to teach Caspian how to dance a lively jig, but his training was more classical and his feet couldn't seem to burst into movement as the dance required. 

Morgan had remarked, "Put some fire under his feet, that'll get his them moving." and the camp roared with laughter. 

My cot was soft and I fell into it pressing my face into the feather-down pillow, letting sleep wash over me in cool waves. The wine in my belly had me feeling like I was still swaying even lying still, but the sensation felt like I was a child being rocked lovingly to sleep.

Deep into the night, an acrid smell filled my tent. My eyes snapped open. 

Burning. Something is burning.

Screams pierced the air as I sat up in my cot. I tried to take a breath but it hitched in my throat.  An orange glow illuminated the canvas of my tent. I threw my covers aside to dash out of my tent when an arm wrapped around my waist and a hand slid over my mouth.

"Come with me, Princess,"  A man's gruff voice growled in my ear. This was not the kind of voice of a rescuer, but that of a captor.

He gripped me tightly and pulled me out of the tent into the carnage. Tents were trampled by horses that got loose, torches overturned that set patches of the camp ablaze, people with blood trickling down their faces standing dazed in the midst of it all.  Everywhere I looked there was a soldier clad in black armor engaged with a Narnian. 

I strained against the leather-gloved hand that was pressed against my mouth. Whispers of air escaped my nostrils as I tried to inhale untainted air.  The man dragged me between tents keeping me out of sight of the Narnian soldiers.  The brute's arm was wrapped all the way around me preventing me from having full control, but my hands could just move. I pulled on my nightgown working down to the hem. Holstered to my thigh was a dagger.

"Never go unarmed, little one." Father said kneeling before me with a small knife in a brown sheath. Wildflowers were carved into the rich hide.