Swanwhite would be the next queen and her children, when she had them, would be the next princes or princesses.
She did not know what to say.
Arlise had spoken it plainly — she would not take the crown again, nor would the children who yet lived suffer its weight upon their brows. Not after all that had befallen them. After the blood that had been spilled within the halls of Cair Paravel, after the desperate flight from Narnia, after the long road that had led them first to Archenland and at last into the shelter of Telmar. There had been too many graves since that day — some marked, some lost to the sea, and some that would never be found at all.
Jacquetta herself had lost kin of her own blood, and others besides whom she had loved no less dearly. She remembered the smoke rising over the towers, the cries in the night, the ships that fled in haste… and the ones that never reached the far shore. She remembered the news that had come upon the waves like a cruel tide, telling of those taken by the deep before they could ever find safety.
No — she could not blame her sister for turning from the throne. She could not blame any of them. Some sorrows could never sit easily beneath a crown.
And yet… she had always believed Rayne would return to it.
Rayne, who had ever been the steadiest among them. Rayne, whose strength had held fast when the rest of them faltered. In Jacquetta’s heart she had long thought that, in time, the crown of Narnia would find its way back to her, and that her children would stand as its rightful heirs, as though the world might one day be set in its proper order again.
For herself, she desired none of it. She would sooner never walk the courts of Cair Paravel again, for its stones were haunted to her now, and every memory there was edged with loss. Rank and title had long since lost their comfort. Peace, such as she had found, had been given to her far from thrones.
The house of Naerion had welcomed them without question, gathering her twin once more into their keeping. And because they loved Arlise, they had shown that same kindness to Jacquetta. In Telmar she had found as much contentment as she believed her heart would ever be granted, and she had not thought to cross the borders of Narnia again.
Still, the news struck her with quiet force.
“Swanwhite…” The name left her lips in a breath, faltering as though it carried more weight than she had expected. “I… I had always thought…” She lowered her gaze, giving a small, uncertain shake of her head. “Forgive me. I believed you would take the crown again.”
Her voice softened, touched with weary understanding.
“I do not blame you. In truth… I have no wish to see Narnia again myself.”
She lifted her eyes once more, meeting Rayne’s gaze — not as a subject before her High Queen, but as one who had endured the same bitter year.
“Swanwhite has proven herself worthy of it. She rode to war when none of us could bear to return, and she has done what we no longer had the strength to do. May Aslan grant her a gentler reign than the one our family was made to endure.”