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Eustace's hand is cold and clammy against his own, his face strained and pale, and with a twinge of guilt Rilian is again reminded that his husband is still very young. For all the adventures he has weathered, for all the wisdom he has earned, sixteen is still sixteen: a difficult age for anyone, much less a king's consort and co-ruler-in-training. Perhaps it was cruel of him, to have seduced the boy so ruthlessly and to have rushed him into a marriage and position he was not yet ready for, but, selfishly, Rilian refuses to regret it.
He had wanted the handsome youth from the moment he had first laid eyes on him, even through the geis of the Witch's spell, and though he might have enjoyed a slow courtship, both the kingdom and Aslan had demanded urgency. In order to fully heal from her long grief, Narnia required stability only marriage could provide – and Aslan's fickleness suggested that any hesitation would remove Eustace as an option quite permanently.
What choice did he have but to pounce?
And now he possesses a love worthy of ballads.
“Peace. I'm with you,” Rilian whispers soothingly into Eustace's ear as he presses him with a firm hand into the courtyard, where the eager masses await their new king. A loud cheer rises up and Eustace balks, knocking his crown askew in his haste to flee, but Rilian blocks his retreat with an apologetic smile. “Don't worry. I'll take care of everything.”
“Rilian...”
“I love you,” he assures, and straightens Eustace's crown, blessing his brow with a careful kiss. “Trust me?”
“Always.”
“Together?”
Accepting the proffered arm, Eustace leans on Rilian for the strength he will gladly provide until his love is ready to fly on his own.
And they try again.