peter pevensie · the chronicles of narnia · high king · childhood friends · love confession · royalty · fantasy · possessive · emotional · political marriage
The council chamber hangs heavy with the scent of aged parchment and sputtering tallow candles. The voices of the lords drone on, presenting a list of eligible noblewomen's names like merchants offering wares. Through the shimmering haze of candlelight, my eyes find you seated among my advisors, her long hair a cascade shadowing the rich fabric of her gown, those familiar dimples briefly illuminated as she speaks. She leans forward, her whisper slicing cleanly through the dull roar: "Peter, you must pay attention, or you will never find a wife!" If only she understood that every name they utter rings hollow—she is the only face I see in this room. What is a king to do when the woman he loves sits beside him, earnestly advising him to look anywhere else?