Posted: 5/13/2023

Updated: 11/25/2024

Year: 2303rd - Present Day

It was the middle of the night, a year later.

Cries of pain echoed down through the stone corridors. Briar gathered her skirts and ran down the long, exotic, and beautiful rugs. Her heart raced as she passed one of the mistresses, who was running by with a vase of water.

She nervously tucked her escaping locks of dark, brunette hair behind her ear, trying to look as unrushed as possible. Her heart hammered against her chest so loudly that Briar was convinced the whole castle could hear. She tightened her shawl around herself as another midwife rushed by, glancing at her as she did so.

"Any news?" she blurted out.

The midwife looked cautiously at her. "Not much, your Highness," the round woman reported. She juggled the cloths and vase in her arms.

Thanks to her quick thinking, Briar allowed the muscles in her face to slacken, her wound-up stance relaxing into an expressionless, plain demeanor.

"Oh, don't be so down, your Highness. I heard one of the women who has a high reputation of predicting the baby's gender believes Lady Prunaprismia will deliver a son!"

A son! The girl's heart stopped, and if it hadn't been for the numbness she'd washed over herself, her features would've exploded in shock. It couldn't be true.

Briar swallowed the cold, frothing of her emotions. Blinking, she forced a tight smile. "I've always wanted a male cousin."

The midwife examined her for a moment, black eyes narrowed. Briar looked at her fixedly, hoping to the gods that she believed her.

After a moment, the woman's expression relaxed. "I'll be betting you'll be engaged to him next, too," the midwife said in a chipper tone. "Lucky you, I say."

This time, Briar couldn't hide her grimace. "That's too far."

"Pardon me, your Highness, it wasn't my place to say."

"It really wasn't."

Briar's mind tripped over itself as she searched for words, her ears roaring from the thoughts that whipped through her mind. If it were any louder, the midwife would surely hear it.

"May I be of any assistance?" she asked coolly.

"That's very sweet of you, your Highness, but I think we've got enough midwives to deliver an army," the small, plump woman offered her an appeasing smile before gathering her skirts. "Now, I must be off."

"Send my Aunt my best wishes," Briar called, turning to watch her scurry off.

As soon as the footsteps faded, her face contorted into a disgusting grimace. Her face hurt from smiling, like someone had poked it with a needle. Briar would sooner kiss a pig than marry an infant.

Focus, Briar!

With no one around, she quickened her pace. She hurried down several flights of stairs to the other side of the castle, tripping over herself in her haste. She turned the final corner and rapped her knuckles against a large, mahogany door.

A loud, frustrated sigh came through. "I told you, Claudius, if this is about my studies—"

"Caspian, it's me. Open the door, it's urg—"

The door swung open before Briar could get any more words out. In the candlelight, she saw a tall, dark-haired young man swoop in and usher her inside.

He hovered by the door, looking both ways. Briar noticed he had his hand upon his sword before he closed it abruptly. Swallowing, she watched as he locked each of the three chains on the intricately carved door.

Then, he turned to her. "Are you hurt?"

"No—of course not. This is me we're talking about," she replied, watching him come forward with urgency. Briar frowned, taken aback as he reached for her, his arms trailing down her shawl while his eyes scan her like she might've been a reflection.

"Miraz hasn't pressed the matter, has he?" Caspian's brow furrowed, his hands gripping her shoulders firmly. "Shall I—"

"No!" Briar said quickly, still breathing rapidly from her sprint. "I'm okay, Caspian, really." She spoke even quicker as his olive features relaxed. "It's Aunt Prunaprismia. She's in labor." She swallowed, trying to keep her composure.

"So soon? She isn't due for a week."

She nodded, opening her mouth to speak more. Her mouth felt dry. Her vision started to blur. Despite her efforts, her fingers shook. She could not feel her arms, and her chest felt cold.

Caspian moved so that he was right in front of where she blankly stared. "What is it?" he demanded. "Something's wrong."

Yes, something was incredibly wrong. Or it could be. How could she say it? She barely heard it, could barely think it.

Her brother guided her to his bed and sat down next to her, studying her face. After several moments of examining the satin sheets, Briar dared to look at him. Trying to tell him, trying to say it without speaking. Her expression begged him not to make her say it.

It only took seconds before Caspian's expression changed. "They think it's a boy?"

She nodded.

He looked away, his chest rising and falling much quicker than before. His eyes searched the fireplace, then the window. "If the child is a boy," his voice lowered, "then that means—"

"—Uncle will no longer need you," Briar finished. She stood up, her body itching to move. She could feel her lungs burning for air, and her breathing started to grow ragged, her head growing lighter. "Caspian, what are we going to do? You know how Miraz is. What if he—what if you—if he tries—"

"Whoa, whoa, calm down," Caspian steadied her.

"He wouldn't do something like that. He may be awful, but he is our kin. He took us in after Father died and cared for our mother. He won't do anything that'll hurt his reputation, and besides, I won't let anything happen to either of us." Caspian looked down at her, and she looked up at him, gazing into his large, dark eyes. "He can't do anything now; the people know about us; it wouldn't make him look good to suddenly remove us from the picture."

He can't. She repeated the words in her mind. He can't. He can't. He can't.

For a second, she believed him. Then, she realized that his breathing had become unsteady. When she looked at him, his face was pale.

"We both know he will do something," Briar insisted.

"I've been thinking about this day for a long time, but I still don't know what he's planning." He draped an arm around her as he thought. "I suppose Professor is going to keep an eye out tonight," he mused, before sounding surer. "He is prepared."

"My room is all the way on the other side of the castle," Briar fretted. "What am I going to do?"

"You should go back, otherwise they'll suspect something," Caspian said decisively. He went and shut the curtains to his room, but not before peering out. "We're being watched."

"They're going to come looking for us," she said slowly. "Mustn't we be more prepared than this? We've had years to think this over."

She exposed her wrist, which, as always, had a dagger locked onto a leather strap to her arm. Her fingers trailed the smooth metalwork along the shaft, feeling the coolness of the flat end of the blade. Through the flaming light in the fireplace, the tip glinted a frosted orange into the clear crystal blade. The silver imbedded into the shaft shone on its hilt, swirling like jagged vines around it so that it clung to the blade.

The dagger had belonged to her mother. Five years ago, it been bestowed back to her family by her nurse, Lady Azur, after having gone missing after the passing of Briar's mother. Before Lady Azur had been released, being replaced by a Lydia, Briar's friend and lady-in-waiting, she had found and returned the blade to Briar.

Caspian came over and sat down on the bed next to her. He took her hand into his and clasped it reassuringly. "We will figure something out. We have to. If only the Narnians were here," he murmured, "they could help us."

"Don't count on it; they're only stories." Briar sighed, running a hand through her hair, which felt damp from the sweat on her forehead. How unladylike of you to run down the halls, spend all your time outside, and learn to fight, the words of her aunt rang in her ears.

"You don't know that." Caspian defended, although he looked doubtful. "You used to love those stories, Bree. You believed them."

"I was twelve," she scoffed. "Besides, there are more important things to be thinking about then fantasies. I'll go keep an eye on our Aunt." Clearing her throat, she stood. She straightened herself out, her momentary fear vanishing, almost as if she'd never panicked in the first place. Vanquishing her emotions was a skill Briar had learned to excel at. A look of determination crossed over her glassy, tea-colored eyes.

"I'll inform you as soon as I have confirmation," the girl said plainly. Wrapping her cloak around herself, she took a slow, purposeful breath. Just as she'd started for the door, a thought crossed her mind.

Briar came to a halt. "Caspian, you don't suppose that...you don't think Uncle will—"

"Don't think like that." He stood and went over to her. He touched her shoulder, and she turned to look at him. Her eyes glistened the way that their mother's used to when she was worried; it was a look Caspian remembered from his childhood. In fact, now that Briar was older, she looked so much like her.

"Everything will be alright," he said softly. "Remember Aslan."

Briar's eyebrow shot into the air. Tipping her head to the side, she pursed her lips at his choice of words. "The lion's just a storybook character, Cas. He's not real."

If he were, he wouldn't have let Telmar poison this world.

"Just because you can't see something doesn't mean it isn't real." Caspian took a deep breath, before giving her a grim look. "It's far better to have faith in something rather than nothing."

His sister let out an exasperated sigh, seemingly unimpressed by the poetic nature of his reassurance. Caspian's frame of mind did nothing to ease her fretting conscience, which had spiraled downward, thinking of dozens of different angles Miraz could be taking. For a feeble moment, she wished her imagination was as optimistic as her brother's; the only thing her imagination was good for was making her anxious.

Despite the edge that crept into her tone, she found herself believing the words she said next. "I have faith in us," she said crisply. "That, no matter what, we aren't leaving without a fight."

* * *

I must find Lydia.

The second Briar had closed the door to Caspian's bedroom, the amalgamation of worrisome thoughts had blown out. It gave way to the fragments of ideas in her mind. Facts and figures, where the kitchen staff were at this, what patrol guards were out, the different routes they took through the castle halls...it all swam in her head like a torrent of salty waves. Would it swallow her whole?

What Briar did know was that if the baby turned out to be a boy, there would be a massive celebration. Miraz would order for there to be a spectacle of fireworks, and the public would stop what they were doing to observe. The taverns might be fuller, the streets may be more or less busy than normal. The guards and bowmen would potentially be distracted if there were fireworks. A feast might be held in the castle within a few days, the kitchen staff would be occupied. Everyone would be busy.

We could escape while everyone was preoccupied.

That felt somewhat reassuring, given the circumstances. Frankly, Briar knew Telmar's large, looming prison like the back of her hand. But it wasn't like she was locked inside the castle her entire childhood, either. She did leave the castle for things like horseback riding and archery practice. Long ago, she and Caspian had persuaded Uncle Miraz to let her exit the castle, if only to appease the people's curiosity and prevent rumors about his brother's children from arising. He had begrudgingly allowed her to venture into villages, chaperoned, just so the people would lay eyes on her and see that she hadn't been...well...removed.

According to Lydia's sources, the only rumors that circled about her had to do with being betrothed to some spoiled, foreign prince. The idea made her mouth taste sour.

Thankfully, running away would fix those problems. Even if Miraz didn't have a male heir, Briar would figure out a way to be rid of Telmar before he made up his mind about which "alliance" would be the most strategic for him. Maybe she would captain a ship and sail away to the edge of the world; she would sooner sail off the edge then go with a stranger to a foreign land.

She continued to hurry down the corridors, her mind a jumbled mess of thoughts. If only time would just speed up, and she could get the next few years over with. But then again, what if she wasn't around then?

That's enough of that kind of thinking, she shuddered. Briar neared a staircase that led up to the second level. Her hands felt clammy against the iron railing, and every echo of her footsteps sounded louder and louder. Nobody would follow her; they knew she liked to take evening walks. Nobody would-

"Evening, your Highness."

Briar almost slammed into a heavily armored guard. To her horror, she recognized him as General Glozelle, captain of Miraz's royal guard. He bowed stiffly.

"Evening!" she yelped, before clearing her throat, feeling heat rush to her cheeks. "Sorry, you just...um...startled me."

"The fault is mine," he spoke plainly, raising an eyebrow. "I should have known you would be on one of your outings tonight."

"P-pardon?" she clutched the railing tighter. The staircase suddenly seemed very small, and very empty; there was nowhere to go.

"It's natural to be nervous," the dark-haired man said. "I'm sure your cousin will be a welcome addition to your family no matter the sex."

"Oh."

Briar hadn't considered what would happen if her cousin was a girl. Please don't let it be a girl, she prayed privately. That was a cruelty she wouldn't wish on anyone.

"'Oh,' indeed." Glozelle narrowed his eyes.

Briar swallowed the urge to stomp on his foot. Instead, she settled for putting a hand on her chest, giving him her most sincere look of anguish. "Well, that's a nice sentiment, I suppose. I, uhm, I admit I was feeling a bit faint from all the fuss."

Wordless, General Glozelle continued to stare at her expectantly. He was waiting for her to say something else. Briar was suddenly glad for the railing, because the stairs felt like they were shifting under her feet.
She found herself crossing her forearms, feeling the slim sheathe of her knife beneath; it helped her gain composure.
"I went out for a walk, you see, to try and get some fresh air," she said, fumbling for words. "But the air in the courtyard is the same as the air in my room. So why go outside at all? I'd rather feel ill surrounded by pillows and blankets."

She locked gazes with him, hoping her faint, but cheery, expression didn't waver. After a moment, Glozelle shifted.

"I see." The General narrowed his eyes slightly. "I suppose it makes sense to feel ill when a potential suitor is about to be born."

Why does everyone keep saying that?

Briar fought the urge to smack his curling mustache. Instead, she flashed him a smile, hands clenched into fists. "Yes, so if you'll excuse me," she tilted her head to the door. "I should really return to my room." At the end, she winked knowingly.

General Glozelle pondered on her words for a second. Eventually, he stepped aside. "Of course." He bowed stiffly, his armor clanking from the movement; stealth was not one of Telmar's strong suits. Except for General Glozelle's unit, they were the only unit capable of pulling off stunts quietly. Yet another reason why Briar couldn't sleep at night.

Briar hurried up the stairs. The second she made it into her room, she made quick work of shutting the door behind her. She leaned on the wood, panting. That was too close. How could she let herself get so distracted in the middle of trying to evade Miraz's eye? If she had gotten caught by any one of Glozelle's units, Miraz would snatch up the opportunity to be rid of her. He would accuse Briar of conspiring with Caspian against his child. That wasn't true at all, at least not yet.

It was a miracle she'd gotten past Glozelle.

Once she locked the door, she threw her shawl on the bed and sat down. She took a brush out from her ash-wood stand and began to run it through her long, rich brown waves. Like her father, Briar's hair was a deep brown, like the dying embers of a campfire. The orange light of a candle made her hair shine like silky, black tea.

She stared out of the carefully shaped glass, marinating on the plans stitching together in her head. The brush had been abandoned. Tentatively, she walked to one of the large, ornate windows. Its shape was exactly the same as every hall window in the castle, and Briar knew its black, spiraling steel designs like the back of her hand. She had spent years of her life staring out of them like they were a cell. Yet, leaving imprisonment wouldn't mean anything good for her.

The gray, fuzzy light of the moon poured through the Telmarine architecture. It was all quiet outside, from what she could tell. From her position, she could see castle guards patrolling up and down the high, stone walls that enclosed the castle. Moonlight reflected on their crisp, iron helmets, the rest of their armor blending into the already gray surroundings. It made her eyes burn; Telmar was so colorless. The greenery in the distance, of trees leading into neighboring countries or the rural areas of Telmar, were the only color in sight. Even the sky was a dreary blue, as though something had sucked the life out of her home country.

A beautiful world of color teased her on the horizon, beckoning her to come, and Briar had never been able to answer the call.

"My lady," a coarse, yet melodic voice came from behind.

"Lydia!" Bri turned to see a woman standing near the doorway. "I haven't even sent word to you yet."

The woman smiled. "I could sense your urgency from the kitchen. Almost like you sent word right here," she tapped her forehead, her rich, brown skin glowing like steeping tea in the candlelight. "Happens all the time, since you were little. Have you ever considered that you might be magic?"

The sigh Briar made was so hefty that she wondered if she'd collapse a lung. "Magic doesn't exist, Lydia. It's just coincidental."

Lydia's eyebrows rose. "You know the Professor agrees with me. I mean, you are pa-"

"That's enough," Briar cut her off sharply. "We have more important things at stake here, Lydia, honestly."

Lydia only shrugged. Her audacity was part of why Briar liked her so much. Even though Briar was royalty and she wasn't, that didn't stop Lydia from treating her as an equal.

After a beat of silence, Briar cleared her throat. "So you heard, then?"

"That it may be a boy? Yes, yes. Troubling indeed," Lydia mused. "What do you plan to do about it?"

Briar wrung her hands. Her mind started to go numb, and now she felt it, the drive. Her fingers itched; her legs kept twitching like she needed to run somewhere. But where? Certainly not Narnia, because there was nothing there but trees.

But trees might be nice, she thought despondently, even just for the change of scenery.

Focus, Briar! She couldn't take it any longer. Grabbing the long, navy curtains, she pulled them closed. Her fingers fumbled with the golden rope meant to tie them together. It slipped out like liquid, and the girl hadn't noticed she'd been shaking until Lydia's still, gentle hands took the rope from her.

"Briar?" Lydia prompted. "What're you thinking?"

"That I can't tie rope, apparently," she backed away and started pacing the large bedroom. Briar rubbed her temples, scanning the carpets and ornate furniture around her. "How long did you say my Aunt has been in labor?"

"About 15 minutes, according to one of the housewives' girls."

"Did you talk to any of them?"

"Willow, yes. She's the one who has been keeping me informed, trying to get me to return to being a housewife. Which is ridiculous, since I used to be in Telmar's army." Lydia adjusted her thick, coiling hair, and Briar studied it for a moment. "My skills aren't just limited to delivering babies. Anyone can do that."

Just as Briar was about to point out that she couldn't deliver a baby, there was a loud pounding on the door.

Miraz.