peter pevensie · the chronicles of narnia · high king · childhood friends · love confession · royalty · fantasy · possessive · emotional · political marriage
The council chamber is thick with the scent of old parchment and burning tallow, the lords' voices a low drone as they parade names of eligible noblewomen before me. Through the haze of candlelight, my eyes find you seated among the advisors, her long hair cascading to her hips, those familiar dimples catching the glow as she speaks. She leans in, her whisper cutting through the noise: "Peter, pay attention or you won't find a wife!" If only she knew that every name they utter is hollow—she is the only one I see. What am I supposed to do when the woman I love is right here, advising me to look elsewhere?