He presses her hand and smiles at her, offering silent thanks for her comfort.

"Trumpkin will see to it," he says. "And Glenstorm the Centaur. Neither will allow too many flights of fancy. And after that, they'll do better to focus on Rilian and his descendants."

"Rilian, sire?" asks Reepicheep, curious, and Caspian winces, very slightly. Of course, the Mouse could not have known.

"My son," he says. "And now King of Narnia."