The Choice

the coronation

The sunlight was gentle that morning, warm and golden, falling across my face like a whisper. I stirred, feeling the weight of peace before opening my eyes. When I did, I found myself looking at the face I loved most in the world—still, serene, half-hidden by tangled dark hair and sleep.

I smiled. The quiet between us was soft, almost sacred.

"You know it's rude to stare, princess," Caspian murmured, his voice low and heavy with sleep.

"I know," I whispered, unable to stop the smile tugging at my lips. "But I still can't believe how lucky I am to wake up next to you."

His eyes opened—those warm, steady eyes that always seemed to see straight through me. "The honour's all mine, princess," he said softly.

I leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek before resting my forehead against his. For a moment, the world was still.

"Today's the day," he murmured, a smile ghosting across his face. "Let's get ready."

"Oh Aslan," I groaned, suddenly sitting up. "What am I even going to wear? I have nothing!"

Caspian chuckled, propping himself on one elbow. "Relax, princess. It's all been taken care of. Go to your room—I've arranged everything."

I eyed him suspiciously, narrowing my gaze. "Why are you always so mysterious, my prince?"

His smile turned playful. "You'll see."

I laughed softly, swinging my legs off the bed. "Then I'll see you at our coronation, my almost-king."

When I stepped into my room, I froze.

Laid neatly across my bed was an outfit unlike any I'd seen –not a gown, but a vision of strength and grace. White leather pants, a silken blouse, and a short jacket that swept long at the back, its edges traced in gold embroidery that shimmered when it caught the light.

It was elegant, yet fierce. Feminine, but utterly me.

Caspian had known. He always did.

For a long moment, I simply stood there, staring at the reflection that slowly took shape in the mirror once I'd dressed. For the first time in my life, I thought –maybe I really am beautiful.

A knock at the door startled me.

"Come in!" I called.

A young woman entered, smiling brightly. "I'm here to prepare you for the coronation, Your Majesty."

"Oh please," I said quickly, "call me Maria."

Her smile widened. "Alright, Maria. I'm Emma. How would you like your hair and makeup?"

"I have no idea," I admitted, laughing nervously. "I trust you—do whatever you think fits."

Her eyes lit up with excitement. "Really? I never get to choose!"

"Well, you do now," I said warmly. "Nice to meet you, Emma."

She grinned. "Then take a seat, Maria. Let's make you ready for your big day."

As she worked, we talked. She told me how she's once been a servant in Miraz's household—a gift, she said bitterly, from him to his wife. "She used to wake me in the middle of the night because of a pimple," Emma muttered.

I laughed, nearly choking. "Oh my god, what a drama queen. Don't worry—I'd never put you through that."

Emma smiled, but her eyes softened. "You're different," she said. "Everyone says you're kind. And brave."