Posted: 5/13/2023

Updated: 5/7/2025

Year: 2303rd - Present Day

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

The 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 and shoved the nervous twinge in her throat to the bottom of her stomach.

"Any news?" she inquired.

The midwife looked cautiously at her. "Not much, your Highness," the round woman said. She juggled the cloths and vase in her arms. At the blank look on Briar's face, an understanding smile spread across her face. "Cheer up, your Highness. I heard the head midwife predicted Lady Prunaprismia will deliver a son."

A son! Briar's heart jolted with a burst of heat. Her 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.

If her aunt gave birth to a son, it would start a dangerous chain of events that could not be undone. Telmar would have a new heir to the throne. The royal bloodline would be secured, and Miraz would no longer need Caspian. Briar and Caspian spent years dreading the possibility. If Miraz and Prunaprismia had a child at all, they were in trouble. A son rendered Caspian a threat instead of insurance of the royal bloodline. If the baby were a daughter, she would be married off—either to Caspian or to form an alliance with other countries like Briar.

Briar used to lie in bed, late at night, wide awake from these exact thoughts. For years, she would stare out the window at the moon from beneath her satin sheets. Looking back, it was incredibly foolish. Those nights should have been spent planning for the arrival of a cousin. Instead, she sat there and stared at the moon from the beside. Well, to Briar's credit, she was young at the time.

The midwife was still staring at her.

Briar forced a tight smile. "Forgive my pause, I think I'm just surprised," she said. A few more servants came scuttling through the hall. She took a step back to allow them to pass and tucked her hair behind her ears.

The midwife laughed. It was a sweet sound, but it curdled Briar's ears, nonetheless. Separation, misery, and possible death were no laughing matter.

The midwife patted her shoulder while she stood numbly in the center of the corridor. "I'll be betting you'll be engaged to him next, too," the midwife said, attempting to reassure her. "You are quite lucky in all of this."

Lucky? Briar's stray thoughts snapped to attention. Are the lives of royalty just entertainment for you, she wanted to shout. Best case scenario, she would be shipped to one side of the world as a peace offering to a strange boy and her brother would be banished to the other. Worst case scenario, Briar would be forced to wed a boy she'd watched be born, and Caspian would be too dead to help her.

"Please, do say that again," she insisted in a sharp tone.

The midwife flushed. Her cheeks turned a dark, tomato red and she looked away. "P-pardon me, your Highness. It was not my place."

"It was not," Briar said hotly. "Send my Aunt my best wishes."

The small, plump woman adjusted the vase on her hip to bow awkwardly. "Yes, your Highness."

As soon as the footsteps faded, Briar took off down the hall, blood simmering and mind racing. A son. Miraz might have a son.

Caspian needed to know right away.

Her feet as light as a feather, she hurried down several flights of stairs and wasted no time sprinting through halls. Getting to the other side of the castle was like running a marathon in a maze. All the while, Briar had to stay unseen. Guards were ordered to report her to Uncle Miraz on the west side of the castle. He did not like it when the two of them were together.

Uncle Miraz would never admit it, but he was afraid of them. Their father, King Caspian IX, was the firstborn son. Caspian and Briar were his direct descendants, invalidating Miraz's right to receive the throne in his absence. Miraz had no choice but to take them in. As King Caspian IX's brother, the people of Telmar expected him to take pity on his brother's orphaned children. No one could escape subjection to the people, not even Miraz. Reluctantly, he had agreed to have Caspian and Briar raised in the castle—where he would be forced to watch them age and ascend a throne he'd wanted for thrice their lifetime.

All their life, Uncle Miraz bided his time, knowing Caspian would soon be old enough to deprive him of the throne. His chance at power was but a window, and that window was almost closed. The only situation where he could succeed, at this point, would be if he had a baby.

After years of trying, he and his wife finally succeeded—and Briar and Caspian were in grave danger.

She soared around the final corner and skidded to a halt in front of an arched door. Briar took a deep breath and knocked the mahogany door in a rhythmic fashion. A single rap of her knuckles, then three sharp knocks, followed by another single rap.

"Caspian," she whispered. "It's me. Open the d—"

The door swung wide before Briar finished. A tall, dark-haired young man swooped an arm around her and ushered her inside. She ducked inside. He stayed by the door, glancing down both ends of the hall. His hand firmly gripped the handle of his sword. When he was satisfied, he shut the door.

Briar stood in the center of the room and watched as Caspian locked each of the three chains on the intricately carved door. Then, he turned to her and scanned her form.

Her naturally round doe-eyes were bugged and her face turned a ghastly pale. Of course, Briar was unharmed. She never was, not really. But her heart pounded ferociously. Fear coursed through her veins, buzzing with life. It crawled across her skin and pressed in from all sides, daring her to burst.

"Are you okay?" Caspian demanded. "Are you hurt?" His touch was like a moth's wings, brushing over her shawl as though he weren't quite sure she were real. As if a single wrong movement would shatter Briar like glass.

She grimaced. "No—of course not. This is me we're talking about."

"Miraz hasn't pressed the matter, has he?" he inquired, carefully examining her expression. "Your birthday isn't for several days. Shall I—"

"No!" Briar said quickly. "It's not that." Her thoughts twisted violently at the idea of the betrothal haunting her. That was a separate problem entirely.

"Come sit," Caspian said gently. He guided her to his bed and sat down next to her, studying her face. She examined the satin sheets, avoiding looking at him.

"We've made a grave mistake, Caspian," she mumbled. "We should have been more prepared. Aunt Prunaprismia is in labor and—and they—they think—"

After several moments, Briar dared to look at him. She could not speak. All she could do was stare, silently begging him not to make her say it.

Not a second passed before Caspian's expression changed. "It's a boy?"

Her eyes dropped to her lap. "It's only a prediction, but the head midwife has never been wrong," she said miserably.

Caspian 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. "I didn't think she would go into labor early. She isn't due for a week. We should've accounted for this, but I've just been so preoccupied staving off the betrothal proclamation— and Miraz is already upset with us. What if he—what if you—if he decides—"

"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, frowning at the way her doubtful expression. "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 Caspian. Then, she realized that his breathing had become slow. His chest rose and fell with precise control, a careful, conscious decision. When Briar looked at him, his face pale, and eyes written desperate for air. Caspian was just as worried as she was. It made her stomach churn.

She tugged at the lace of her sleeves, clearing her throat. "We both know he will do something," she said in a tight voice. "What do we know so far?"

Caspian glanced at her. His lips twisted to the side at how taut the muscles on Briar's face had become. Her pupils fixed straight ahead. They bore a blank shine with which he was all too familiar. Caspian knew she really did not see anything in front of her except flashes of her imagination. Indeed, future situations rolled over Briar's eyes like painted scrolls. Each one becoming darker than the last. There were dozens of things that Miraz could do once the baby was born. If it were a girl, she could be betrothed to Caspian. If the baby was a boy, Briar faced a similar alternative: betrothal to a cousin 15 years younger than her. And should she refuse, she faced betrothal to Prince Hondor in a faraway country, across the world from her brother. Caspian wouldn't be able to do anything to save her.

Both Briar and Caspian knew Miraz would act if the baby were a boy. Before he decided where to place Briar, he would remove the only obstacle keeping him from using her. He could designate Caspian to the military, banish him from Telmar. Or something far worse.

No. Briar couldn't think like that. Uncle Miraz wouldn't risk staining his reputation on the eve of his long-awaited victory over Caspian IX's bloodline. Would he?

Caspian draped an arm around her. "Professor started to make preparations a few weeks ago in case something like this happened. I will speak to him," he said gently. "Have you talked to Angelina or Lydia?"

"No, I came here first," she admitted. "But Lydia must know. She hears everything that happens around here." Briar leaned in, pressing her temple into his wide shoulder. "Angelina was stationed at the bridge construction this week," she confessed. Her eyes flickered upward, swallowing Caspian's gaze. Watching for his reaction to the news.

Angelina Glozelle was the daughter of General Glozelle, the leader of Telmar's militia. She was a tall, hard-muscled woman with sharp eyes and a whip of raven black hair. She was 13 years older than Briar and a scout with over a decade of experience. Since Miraz didn't want them together, Caspian requested her to help look after Briar. They crossed paths frequently at the barracks and training courtyard. It was the perfect place for them to exchange messages.

Angelina spent most of her time at the castle once she and Caspian made the agreement. Looking back, Briar didn't understand why she was so amiable being a princess's unofficial spy and bodyguard. Especially when Angelina was determined to work her way up the ranks. But without her, Briar never would've learned anything beyond how to serve tea and look pretty.

Now, Angelina and Lydia were Briar's primary source of information. Lydia, her lady-in-waiting, was a servant once. She had connections and knew all the gossip. If Briar needed anything related to society or happenings in the castle, she went to Lydia. Angelina, on the other hand, knew patrol routes, missions, political news, and everything out in the world. It was one of the benefits of being a scout. She could persuade anyone to do anything. The only thing sharper than Angelina's scimitar was her mind. She was the one Briar turned to when something was wrong or there was any chance of danger. Her mind was strategic and she could calculate exactly what to do under the highest pressure.

And right now, Briar and Caspian needed her desperately.

"What should we 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. Are you armed?"

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, she'd returned the blade to the royal family.

"They're going to come looking for us," Briar said slowly. "We should've been more prepared; we've had years to think this over."

Caspian sat 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."

"Those are only stories. I doubt they can do anything from the inside of a page." 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, Brie. You believed them."

"I was twelve," she scoffed. "We don't have time for fantasies, Cas. I'm going to go find Lydia." Clearing her throat, she stood. She straightened herself out, her momentary fear vanishing, almost as if she'd never panicked in the first place. 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. She halted.

"What if this is the last time we see each other?"

When Briar turned, Caspian saw his mother again. Her eyebrows pinched together and her lips pressed in a tight line—the same way that their mother did when she was worried. Caspian remembered that look well. When he was small, his mother constantly wore it. She was always worried. In retrospect, she had a right to be.

Now, Caspian realized Briar looked just like her. Worried expression and all.

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

Briar's eyebrow shot into the air. "The lion's just a storybook character, Cas. He's not real."

"Just because you can't see something doesn't mean it isn't real," he replied with a frown. "It's far better to have faith in something rather than nothing at all."

His words were poetic but they weren't reassuring. Briar wished her imagination were 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 closed the door to Caspian's bedroom; her brain went to work pulling together every fact she could conjure that might be of use. Fragments of ideas began to form. There was a lot of information at her disposal; where the kitchen staff were, their retrieval patterns, what patrol guards were out and the different routes they took through the castle halls...

What else do I know?

Well, Telmar would throw 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, and a sea of villagers would swarm the streets and abandon the travelling road. They could blend into the village or escape through the street while everyone was preoccupied.

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. If only time would just speed up, and she could get the next few years over with. But then again, what if she didn't live that long?

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. Angelina's father. 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 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."

Does no one hear how absurd this sounds?

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."

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 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, gasping. That was too close. How could she let herself get so distracted?

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 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!" Briar 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."

Lydia's eyebrows rose. "Just because you say so doesn't make it true."

Briar rolled her eyes, although her audacity was part of why she 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, the midwives told me on their way to see Her Ladyship," Lydia sighed. "They've asked for my assistance, so I can't stay long."

Briar wrung her hands. Her mind started to go numb, and now she felt it. 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.

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

Briar rubbed her temples, scanning the carpets and ornate furniture around her. "I'm thinking that I wish Angelina were here."

"We could use her about now," agreed Lydia glumly. "She knows everything."

"How long did you say my Aunt has been in labor?"

She frowned. "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.