Summary: Prince Caspian is too late to rescue Susan. She has one last request: a kiss. Caspian / Susan romance. Short and sweet one-shot: complete.

Yours

PenPatronus

Shafts of sunlight and trunks of trees divided the woods like prison bars.

Susan Pevensie was trapped.

Her dark eyes painted targets on the chests of the oncoming cavalry. I am a wall, she silently warned them. She armed her bow. You will not get one meter closer to my sister. Something squeezed the back of Susan's neck, not unlike the pinch of magic she'd felt in the underground before they'd returned to Narnia. Susan was feeling magic: the magic caused by Lucy's last look at her before she galloped out of eyesight, off to search for Aslan alone.

Susan was about to face a half-dozen soldiers…alone.

Beyond the woods and Aslan's How, Peter dueled Miraz…alone.

Alone. Trapped and all alone.

Susan swallowed, wetting her throat and forcing down her fear. She spared one last prayer for her friends and siblings. She was alone, but she was a wall. She was lethal. She was a warrior Queen.

The first Telmarine raised his crossbow, and Susan's arrow flicked it out of his wrist before crashing into his chest. Her second and third arrows caught another two soldiers in their throats. They fell off their rides, and the horses whinnied as they continued their gallops at full speed, passing within inches of Susan's elbows. Goosebumps prickled across Susan's skin as she hurried to cock another arrow. They were charging at her from three directions. A tripped horse rolled through the dead leaves. Susan threw herself to the left, tucking her bow against her chest as she somersaulted out of the way. And then she popped back up onto her feet, and had the weapon cocked in record time, and a shaft of sunlight briefly blinded her, and—

And the zip of a crossbow was the only sound in all of Narnia.

An arrow plunged through her stomach as though it were only water. Susan was flung backwards into a cushion of moss and mushrooms at the foot of a sapling. Instantly her arms, her lips and her eyelids were all too heavy. But her eyes flew open, her arms twitched and her lips parted to make way for a scream of pain when the faceless Telmarine who'd shot her twisted his arrow before retrieving it from her spine.

He plucked it out like a flower petal, and laughed at the dripping blood. And then he raised a sword, aiming it for her throat. Susan braced herself for the killing blow the only way she knew how: she closed her eyes.

And then she heard her own name, and with a gasp of recognition she called his back:

"Caspian!"

There was a noise like a tornado. Leaves and dirt and mud splattered across Susan's body to mix with her blood. Susan heard swords clanging and three men breathing hard. And then she only heard two, and then only one.

A pair of knees entered her eyesight, and a pair of hands cupped her face.

"Susan! Susan? Susan!"

His eyes were stormier than that tornado, and darker than the blood staining Susan's skirt. His hair was a raven's feathers. Susan sensed that she would only be conscious for another moment. Another moment was all she had.

Another moment was all she needed.

"Kiss me."

He obeyed his Queen.

Prince Caspian parted her lips with his and the pressure of his hot tongue was a pleasurable pain. Their cheekbones rubbed like wood and flint, creating sparks that danced across Susan's skin. He grinded his lips against hers slowly at first, savoring, before picking up speed and force. The rich warm moisture, the resilient softness of his lips, the unbearable bliss would have killed Susan if the arrow didn't.

His lips fluttered against her skin like butterfly wings: up her neck, across her jaw, over her cheeks, on her forehead before crashing back against hers. Something hotter than blood dripped onto Susan's chin, and she realized that it was one of his tears. "I'm yours," Caspian vowed into her mouth.

He tasted like the skin of a green apple.

She agreed, and used her last breath to tell him so. "I'm yours."

The End