AN ENCHANTER'S FORETELLING. [NARNIA]

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE | TRUTH

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
TRUTH

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It had been a fair morning when young Lucy Pevensie witnessed a sight she never thought she would see. Especially when the sight had been of her dear brother, Edmund Pevensie, seemingly engaged in an ardent conversation with one of her sister's ladies. And frankly, it was a sight she never thought she would see until a few more years passed; it was one where her brother looked to be deeply enamored with the lady that stood with him. It seemed as though he had finally realized the deep sentiment he felt for the girl, and for that, Lucy Pevensie was grateful.

The way he expressed himself whilst they conversed, rashly motioning his arms - as though speaking of a topic they had both been passionate about; the glimmer in his eyes when he slipped glances at the girl as they strolled upon one of the many labyrinth-like corridors of the castle. And, the way their sweet smiles had been so infectious that even Lucy Pevensie had, too, smiled at the pair 'fore she hid behind the wall of an empty corner.

Thus, their once-fervent voices hushed and their footsteps became swift, and one of the doors opened and closed silently behind them. Lucy took a small peek around the corner, only to see the door slipping shut merely a few feet away from her. Her lips parted and she balled the silks of her gown before she moved to stand by the dull door, pressing her ear against the hard wood as an attempt to hear inside the room.

But to no avail; no sound was ever emitted other than the hollowness of the solitary corridor.

Lucy's grip on her skirt weakened and she drew back, her gentle gaze lingering upon the dull door. She released a breath - that sounded more like a chuckle - and slowly, a soft smile grew upon her rosy lips; realization had dawned on her in that moment. Thus, with a series of joyous steps, she rushed to her private bed chambers, her now restless mind filled with all sorts of thoughts and the blossoming possibility of her best friend and dearest brother.

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She did as they had planned in the library: to meet in one of the private gardens and wait for the other to come. Thus, there Rose Lovell sat, upon a withered stone seat amidst a maze of dull bushes, toying with the hem of her dress's lavish, beige sleeves; as she awaited for the boy she had become so fond of to arrive at last.

Her hand drew up to tame the short hairs that framed her round face as the soft spring breeze howled, and her foot softly tapped against the grass. Needless to say, she had been feeling somewhat anxious for what the king had to say, though she had a thought of what might be the topic of his confession. But that did not seem to stop her from moving to fiddle with the silver, minimalistic ring that rested on her finger. The minutes grew prolong and the cool evening sky stretched into a soft blue.