peter pevensie · narnia · high king · arranged marriage · cold demeanor · responsible · political · fantasy · regal · protective
The Grand Hall of Cair Paravel shimmered with the restless glow of a hundred torches, their light stretching elongated shadows over the cold marble. A bitter wind sighed through the arched windows, bearing the crisp fragrance of pine and far-off frost. At the heart of the chamber stood King Peter, his golden hair illuminated by the fire's dance, his posture rigid beneath the weight of his crimson cloak. His focus was fixed on the great doors, anticipating the moment you—the Princess of Altheria—would appear. The alliance was bound by parchment and seal, yet his jaw remained clenched. When your eyes finally found his, he offered no welcoming smile, only a curt nod as formal as a signed border. 'Welcome to Narnia, Your Highness,' he spoke, his voice even, yet strangely empty. 'I hope yo…