The Choice

The raid

That night the fortress thrummed with tension. Armour buckles clinked, weapons were sharpened, griffins readied. My hands moved automatically as I strapped on my daggers, but my stomach was twisting. This would be my first true battle. I had trained, I had lived through a war, but nothing compared to this. Still, I forced myself to breathe steady. Fear was normal. Readiness mattered more.

We mounted the griffins under the cover of night. The wind was sharp against my face as we lifted, wings beating silently above the treetops. Peter, Susan, Edmund, Caspian, and I would enter first. Edmund would be dropped on the tower to signal our troops. The rest of us would slip into the castle unseen.

Caspian led us down the castle wall, dropping lightly into the shadows below. Peter followed, then Susan. I went last, my boots searching for stone footholds, my heart thundering. Before I lost balance, firm hands closed on my waist and pulled me through the window.

"Thanks, prince," I whispered with a smirk.

"Anytime, princess," Caspian murmured back. His touch lingered a heartbeat too long before let go.

We crept deeper into the darkened chambers. Caspian's voice was hushed when he called, "Professor?" His steps faltered as his hand found a pair of spectacles left on a table. His face tightened, grief flickering in his eyes. He turned to Peter.

"I have to find him."

"There's no time," Peter snapped. "You have to get to the gatehouse."

Caspian's jaw set. "You wouldn't even be here without him. Neither would I." His gaze landed on me, searching for support.

Peter's eyes narrowed at me, but I lifted my chin. "He's right. We'll find the professor, then meet you at the gatehouse."

Susan's calm voice backed me. "We can deal with Miraz."

Peter hesitated, then gave in. Caspian and I ran.

The cells were cold and foul-smelling; dread curled in my chest. One look told me Caspian's worst fear was true—the professor lay motionless behind the iron bars. I pressed myself against the doorframe, watching the hall while Caspian slipped inside. His low voice trembled in conversation I couldn't hear. When he emerged, his eyes were wet, his face pale.

"Cas?" I asked softly, cupping his face in my hands.

"I think..." his voice cracked. "I think he killed my father. Miraz. My uncle."

My heart squeezed. I wanted to rage for him, but instead I held his gaze steady. "Then we'll get the truth. Whatever it costs."

Something broke loose in him—anger, pain, determination. He surged forward, and I followed.

We found Miraz in his chambers. Caspian pressed a blade to his throat, waking the tyrant from his false peace. His wife startled upright, eyes wide. I remained hidden, watching.

"Thank goodness, you're safe..."

"Get up," Caspian spat.

Miraz smirked as he rose, unbothered.

"Caspian?" Miraz's wife asked in complete disbelief, "What are you doing?"

"I think it's obvious, dear. You know, some might consider this inappropriate behaviour."

"That doesn't seem to have stopped you." The prince spat at his uncle.

"But you're not like me, are you? It's sad. The first time you show any backbone, and it's such a waste."

The wife, trembling, lifted a crossbow toward Caspian.

"Put the sword down Caspian. I don't want to do this."