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“Forgive me, your majesty. I didn't think to find anyone out here this late.”
“There is nothing to apologise for,” Edmund replied, hiding a smile. “I myself am rarely able to slip away at this time.”
And that was truer than Edmund would admit. Five Kings and Queens there were of Narnia (and Eustace the Duke), and yet Edmund could scarcely remember being as busy as this in his whole life. Audiences and meetings, councils, hunts, training sessions, gazing at the stars with the centaurs, feasts. So much to do and, Aslan, had Edmund missed it. All of it. Yet, he enjoyed his free time too.
Ramandu's daughter inclined her beautiful head. “But you have and I would not interrupt you.”
“You are not interrupting,” Edmund blurted, then took a deep breath. He was the Just King of Narnia, he could talk to a beautiful woman without sounding like he enjoyed the taste of his own foot. “I mean to say, Ambassador, that I welcome your company.”
Liliandil smiled, drifting gracefully further into the greenhouse.
“What is it that you are doing?”
“Gardening,” Edmund explained quietly, giving Liliandil a slight smile. “My mother would have me do it so I didn't get underfoot. I find it relaxing now.”
Liliandil inclined her head curiously, radiant at the corner of his vision.
“My mother loved roses,” Edmund continued, taking Liliandil's silent presence for curiosity. “She used to take cuttings from her friends and grow them.”
He turned to another table, the fine craftsmanship all but groaning under the weight of pots of roses. Not as prevalent in Narnia as in England, but blooming under his care.
“Very beautiful, roses,” Edmund said, talking as if to himself, knowing Liliandil was still watching him. “Back in my world, England, where I was born, we'd say the beautiful girls, women, were English roses.” Edmund traced the petals of a deep purple rose. “Delicate and beautiful.” His hand lowered, fingertip pricking on the thorns along the stem. “Like true beauty, deceptive in the delicateness. Not merely ornamental. Capable of defending itself.”
He lowered his pruning shears, cutting at the angle his mother had taught him. Gently, Edmund offered the rose to Lilandil.
“Careful,” he warned, holding the stem gingerly. “Roses have thorns.”
Liliandil reached out, her fingers brushing his as she accepted the rose. She held it with the same grace she brought to everything, turning it gently in the starlight that filtered through the glass roof.
"It's beautiful," she murmured, studying the deep purple petals.
Edmund didn't look at the rose. He looked at her - at the way the starlight caught in her hair, the way the soft wonder lit her eyes.
"Yes," he agreed quietly. “Beautiful.”
Liliandil's eyes rose, catching his gaze.
He felt his ears flame. He'd faced witches and wars, been crowned king by Aslan, sailed the sea and seen his cousin turned into a dragon and back. And yet, here he was feeling like a teenager all over again.
Liliandil's smile shone like the stars. Bright and warm, not small and pitying.
“It seems a pity this rose should die just so I might admire it's beauty,” Liliandil murmured, her lyrical voice soft in the night air.
Edmund kept his eyes on his shears lest he actually stick his foot in his mouth again. “I could replant it,” he offered softly. “Let it grow into a plant ten times as beautiful as one flower.”
Liliandil's hand appeared in his vision, her skin glowing faintly as it always did. “I would like that, Your Majesty.”
“Edmund, please,” Edmund stumbled over himself to say, hissing as he pricked himself on the thorns in his eagerness to reach for the rose. He kicked himself as his own words replayed in his head. “That is to say, Ambassador, I would be honoured if you would call me Edmund.”
Another blossoming smile. “Then you must call me Liliandil.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Edmund replied, internally cheering when he sounded regal instead of ridiculous.
He reached for the small tub of honey he kept for this purpose, gently dipping the cut end of the rose into the confection.
Liliandil watched him more curiously than before. “Honey?”
“It will help the rose grow roots,” Edmund explained, remembering his mother whisper the lesson. A little sweetness helps ease things along.
As gently as he could, Edmund deposited the cutting into a smaller pot, patting the soil down gently.
“It will take some time,” he said, moving the pot into pride of place on the table. Just the right spot, humid without being overwhelmingly so. “But your rose will become the star of the garden.”
Liliandil laughed, fortunately taking no offense at his inadvertant pun.
Edmund treasured the bright, musical sound. Wished to hear it more.
Suddenly, his plans of a peaceful hour or so in his greenhouses seemed unimportant.
“Would you like to see the rest of the gardens?” Edmund asked, dusting off his hands. “They're more impressive by day, but the starlight makes them shine.”
Liliandil nodded, brushing her fingers over her rose one last time for the night. “I would like that, Edmund.”
Edmund smiled, waving Liliandil out into the night air. He offered her his arm in a courtly fashion, much the same way as he saw Caspian and Susan wandering the castle and the towns these days.
Liliandil barely hesitated before she gently rested her hand in the crook of his elbow, his skin tingling beneath his shirt.
Together, they walked slowly around the gardens, taking their time. They had nowhere particular to go and no one particular demanding their attention. Tonight it was just them, the gardens and the stars up above. All the time in the world.