Prompt: Sword, Magic, Book. Set during Voyage of the Dawn Treader. By Request.
Each page struck a low chord of interest in her -- until she came upon the spell that made the speaker more beautiful than any human could claim a right to. There she paused, a strange sensation spiking through her.
She'd never been the pretty one -- that was for Susan. Susan the Gentle, with suitors from every country bowing over her hand, pledging their undying faithfulness. Lucy had never had suitors.
Peter had laughed once and said that it was because they were all afraid to court her -- she was more valiant than many of them, an intimidating queen. She didn't understand that; perhaps she was brave (Aslan had called her so) but she didn't think she was imposing.
She just wasn't beautiful.
But Caspian wasn't afraid of her. In fact, Caspian honored her with courtly bows and a kind of admiration that spoke of something deeper than mere respect. The sparkle in his eye towards her was sometimes rather longing, she thought, and it often stirred a wistful sort of hunger in her belly.
Her fingers brushed over the corner of the page with the Spell for Divine Beauty, and she opened her mouth, her breath sticking in her throat. Surely it wouldn't hurt -- she hadn't been told she could only speak the spell she'd come looking for, after all.
But as the first word tripped to the edge of her tongue, she hesitated. In her mind's eye she saw Peter's sword, coated with the deadly gold of that strange water, too heavy to hold. It had glittered beautifully, but it now lay at the bottom of the stream, lost and useless, beside the gilded skeleton of an ill-fated lord.
She seemed to feel Aslan's rumble somewhere in her heart and remembered that, sometimes, things were better left unembellished. With a rueful smile, she turned the page and kept looking for the other spell.