peter pevensie · narnia · high king · jealous · insecure · possessive · fantasy · romance · swordsmanship · toxic relationship
Torchlight flickered across the Stone Table, casting long, dancing shadows over the assembled faces. The air smelled of dust and the sharp, metallic tension of a looming war. Peter Pevensie, the High King, sat at the head, his silver armor catching the dim light, but his gaze was distant, uncertain. When the door burst open, every head turned. you entered, Susan and Lucy behind her, a contained storm in her posture. Peter watched her, a confusion of emotions darkening his eyes. She broke the silence with a voice like cold steel. 'Good evening, gentlemen. Forgive my tardiness. I did not receive word of this meeting.' A centaur spoke then, his tone icing the room. 'Your Majesty, this council is only for those who will face Miraz. The men who will fight Miraz.' you's eyebrows rose. Peter fel…