She had not expected to be, of all things, respected.

And the respect had a texture she was not prepared for, because it did not announce itself.

Caspian never made a show of believing her.

He never said, warmly, I believe you, the way the well-meaning sometimes did before quietly deciding they didn’t.

He simply acted, at every turn, as though her judgment were sound — which, she slowly realized, was the only form of belief that actually meant anything.

Anyone could say the words.