LOWBORN : Edmund Pevensie

05

Princess Evangeline seems to have bruised a rib. Breathing has become a chore for her, and so she spends much of her time in her room, reading and crocheting. The physician says it should only take a few weeks to heal, seeing as the fall wasn't too terrible.

"This business is rather dreadful," Princess Evangeline says. "Surely my father must be expecting I'm having a great time. Sure, it is better than associating with that dreadful King, but still. I feel rather useless."

It's not just the fall that has her feeling this way. She still insists upon dressing herself. Normally, I supervise a handful of servants beneath me at the castle, to ensure that everything is to Princess Evangeline's liking. Now, I am useless in that task as well. She even has insisted on walking to the kitchens, which is a decent way's away, to collect every meal, before retiring to her chambers.

While I wish to support her newfound independence, it has me feeling quite embarrassed. What use am I to a princess who can pull on her stockings?

"Well, surely you'll be healed soon," I tell her, smiling.

"You mustn't stay cooped up in here with me," she insists, stabbing at the fabric of her needlepoint. She grunts as she moves too abruptly, and I wince with her.

"What else would you have me do?" I ask.

She shrugs. "Explore Cair Paravel. Queen Lucy has offered to keep me company."

When is she corresponding with Queen Lucy?

There is a knock at her door and I stand up to get it. I check the clock. It is a bit before noon, not that we are ever expecting any visitors.

On the other side of the door stands King Edmund. He looks down at me, and then he tries to get a glimpse of Princess Evangeline from behind me. I quickly step into the hallway and shut the door behind us.

King Edmund holds a silver tray that gleams in the candlelight. "I brought lunch."

"Princess Evangeline likes to collect her lunch, usually," I point out, but curtsy anyway. "Thank you, King Edmund."

I reach my arms out to collect the tray, but King Edmund pulls it backwards. He sets it on the stone floor, next to the long and vibrant carpet that covers the hallway.

Afterwards, he crosses his arms over his chest. "You don't have to pretend to like me."

I flutter my eyelashes. Even though I am hiding my disdain, it should be readily apparent to him that I do not enjoy his company. At best, I find his way of life confusing. At worse, he is demeaning and cruel, and he took the life of a dear friend of mine.

"I'd rather win your approval," he says.

My approval means nothing. "I should bring Princess Evangeline her lunch."

"Walk with me," he asks. I cannot tell it is a command or a request. Is there such a difference to a royal?

He holds out his elbow, his puffy green velvet sleeve waiting for me to take it. I reach forward and wrap my hand around his arm. I have never been fond of the feeling of velvet. It has always made my skin crawl.

The two of us walk down the steps and around corners. No servants spot us, and his siblings are nowhere to be found. He leads us to a courtyard, with bright green grass and a marble statue of him and his siblings, though much younger. They are wearing clothing, unlike anything I have ever seen. The women aren't in dresses, but in two-piece outfits, with skirt lengths falling just below their knees. High King Peter is wearing servant's clothes, sporting a button-up with suspenders. King Edmund wears simply a sweater.