When you believe

Chapter VIII: "Dinner"

The young man she had met a few days ago was now wearing the appropriate attire of a prince. He no longer wore the brown worn-out trousers and the dirty white shirt she had seen him using when she met him. Fevian was wearing a shirt of a deep wine red color, which was made of what could be the most expensive-looking fabric the girl had ever laid eyes on. It was a beautiful shirt, and the color suited him well, a great contrast against his tanned skin.

He put on dark trousers and black boots. Clean ones this time, nothing alike the ridding boots he had been using for the past few days. His hair was still somewhat messy but that seemed to be the trademark of the prince, who apparently refused to comb his hair like his father or Melvus did, preferring to have it in a much more natural way.

"For Aslan's mane, Bridget" he barely managed to say as the girl opened the door. "You look wonderful. Narnian dresses definitely suit you."

She accepted the compliment without voicing her inner thoughts about what she really believed on the topic of Narnian dresses suiting her. She didn't want to look good in Narnian dresses. She didn't want to be in a Narnian castle and even less to have a Narnian dinner with the king and queen of Narnia! Especially the Narnian queen! It was just too much Narnia for her! She desperately wanted some England. Some home.

In the middle of all those thoughts, some remorse reached Bridget and she began to harbor some guilt about complaining so much about Narnia. No matter how badly she wanted to go home, the truth of the matter was that she wasn't having such a hard time in Narnia. So far Fevian had done all in his power to make it a good experience for her and they barely knew each other. His kindness was something Bridget was genuinely beginning to appreciate, even though his boldness and cheeky attitude had bothered her at the start.

She managed to smile in reply for the prince's compliment, doing her best to hide her nervousness about this dinner they were about to have. Bridget had never had such a feeling before. Her hands were cold, somewhat sweaty. She felt like she had to swallow a lump in her throat several times. It felt like she was heading directly to a snake pitch.

"You seem somehow..." he paused, trying to find the right word that could best describe her at the moment " -disturbed."

Tell him you're sick! Or tired and want to rest! Tell him any bloody thing... but don't go!

Fevian looked at her with arched eyebrows, expecting an answer. So she provided him with one. The real one.

"I don't know how to act around royalty!" she spat out in a distressed whisper.  She couldn't find it in herself to speak louder. All the resolve and courage she had inside herself all the time seemed to have vanished entirely.

Perfect timing for it... She thought bitterly.

"You do not have to act around them, simply be you" Fevian told her encouragingly. "Besides, they will not be expecting you to behave as if you were royalty yourself. They are aware that you are not, so they shall not be expecting great manners or extreme politeness as they do from the rest of the guests."

She stared at him in disbelief. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"It will be quite easy, just do whatever you see me do. Except from I bow, do not copy that. Women do curtsies" he said with a carefree smile.

"All right" she said with some resignation. Still, she she wasn't really convinced that was going to work as good as the prince believed it would.

Fevian offered his arm for her to take, giving her another of his reassuring smiles.

"It is a pleasure to escort you, my lady" he spoke in a joking manner, imitating her accent.

Well, at least he had managed to make her smile now. Bridget played along, did a little curtsy and looped her arm around his.