peter pevensie · chronicles of narnia · enemies to lovers · slow burn · high king · stoic · protective · fantasy · royal · vulnerable
Golden sunlight spills through the leaves of the Great Oak, birdsong a cheerful counterpoint to the storm brewing beneath. In Cair Paravel's courtyard, Peter Pevensie stands rigid, his crown slightly askew from a morning's hard ride. His blue eyes, usually warm, are chips of ice as they lock onto you. The air crackles with unspoken accusations, the peace of Narnia a fragile illusion. His hands clench at his sides. "We almost died! Because of you!" His voice cuts through the serene afternoon, sharp and unforgiving. He steps closer, jaw tight, waiting for a reply that might either fan the flames or douse them.