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Surrender ~ Peter Pevensie

Summary: When Miraz corners the Narnian army in Aslan’s How, Y/N has to do something.

Warnings: physical violence, war, self-sacrifice, Miraz being icky

Word count: 11.2k (this was originally only supposed to be a thousand words and the first draft was only 6.9k whoops)

My body was hosting a competition to see which would happen first: throwing up or passing out.

The moment the lookout alerted Caspian and the four Pevensies to the presence of Miraz’s army, the tension in Aslan’s How skyrocketed. Nobody was a fool; we all knew the odds. Not only were we surrounded, but the bloodthirsty Telmarine army was bigger, had more armor and weapons, and was led by a man that refused to compromise.

Caspian and I had more experience with that than anyone else here.

While the Pevensies were focused on gathering everyone necessary for a much-needed strategy meeting, Caspian pulled me into a secluded nook in the cavern hallway, leaving us alone completely except the distant clanking noises of the army preparing for war echoing down the corridor.

“Are we really going to go through with this?” Caspian asked, chewing his lip nervously, the flickering light of the torch casting shadows on his face. “Like, seriously, we’re going to just stand up in front of everyone and do it?”

I took a deep breath, trying to get my nerves back under control. I shoved my shaking hands into the pockets of my loose, roughspun pants. “Do you truly think this could work?”

Caspian shrugged. “You know Miraz better than I.”

“Which isn’t saying much,” I muttered.

“But you certainly know Peter better,” Caspian said. At my confused expression, he rolled his eyes. “I’m not blind, Y/N.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said shortly, but Caspian sent me a knowing look.

“Yes, you do.”

I ducked my head, staring at the rough stone underneath my feet.

He was right.

Since Trumpkin came to Aslan’s How with the Pevensies, Peter and I had been inseparable. We’d eat together, silently bind each other’s wounds, give the occasional touch that lingered too long to be innocent, and all manner of secret moments that had started out as friendly, but kept bringing us right up to the line between friends and something more.

The night after the attack on the Telmarine castle, Peter and I sat in one of the spots the lookouts used to keep watch, soaking in despair and watered down wine. The wine loosened our tongues and lowered our inhibitions, and there was only a little wine left in the bottom when a strange light appeared in Peter’s eyes. He said my name softer than it’d ever been said before.

He didn’t say anything more, and nor did I.

I’d known without asking that we were thinking the same thing: love had no place in war. But I also knew the heart’s desire burning in Peter’s gaze matched my own.

After that night, Peter and I started acting with renewed vigor, fighting for the freedom of Narnia, yes, but also for the freedom to see what could be.

Caspian’s plan could be the tipping point between losing and winning this war.

“If we do this...Peter is gonna hate me.”

Caspian didn’t disagree, which only made me more terrified of the consequences of what we were about to do. His weak smile—most likely intended to make me feel better—was so strained, it only capitalized on the desperate nature of the situation. “I think you’re the most important piece we can play.” My heart sank into a pool of dread, and Caspian caught my hand. “But if you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to.”

I could read the truth in his eyes.

He really was leaving it up to me. No one could really know what this plan would mean for me except him. If I said no, the plan would stop here, and he would never bring it up again, not even if we were all chained up in Miraz’s dungeon facing execution.

Personally, I preferred the dungeon.

But if I said no, and we lost?

I wouldn’t be alone in that dungeon. Nothing would break me as fast as seeing despair on all the faces of the people I could’ve saved had I been braver.

Doing this provided the advantage Peter so deeply craved.

But Peter would never see it that way.

Caspian squeezed my hand, bringing me out of my thoughts. “Y/N? Do you want to back out?”

I felt my heart speed up in my chest. This was an impossible decision. I needed more time to think it all through–

“There you guys are!” Edmund said, jogging up from behind Caspian. “C’mon, we’re meeting by the Stone Table.”

Caspian shot me a panicked look, but neither of us could say anything without being conspicuous and neither of us could linger without being suspicious. There was nothing left to do except trail behind Edmund.

As we walked through the carved corridors of Aslan’s How, my eyes lingered on the etchings depicting Narnia’s history.

Many of the carvings involved simple details, shallow etchings that made the picture stand out, and some of them were half as big as I was.

The earliest depiction was of Mr. Tumnus, the faun who’d invited Lucy for tea and later helped her escape in direct defiance of the White Witch. His bravery started a chain of events that led to the four Pevensie siblings bringing peace to Narnia.

Mr. and Mrs. Beaver were next. Without their guidance, Peter, Susan, and Lucy might not have made it to Aslan.

The nearer we drew to the stone table, the more embellished the pictures became. I saw the fox who saved the lives of the four kings and queens. I saw Father Christmas handing the horn to Susan. I saw Aslan bargaining with the White Witch for Edmund’s life.

Narnia’s history burst at the seams with examples of courage.

Indeed, the old Narnians had hidden from the Telmarines for centuries, waiting for the chance to take back their home. If I said no, if Caspian and I didn’t go through with our plan, my momentary cowardice might cost the Narnians everything.

Could I stand to have that on my conscience?

Everyone else was already in the cavern housing the stone table.

Glenstone spoke for the centaurs while Trumpkin appeared on behalf of the dwarves. As the only giant in the army, Wimbleweather was here too, though he hung back (he was much too shy to speak up in a meeting like this). The talking animals were represented by Reepicheep, Trufflehunter, and Patterwig, a talking squirrel that was perched on Glentsone’s equine back. Asterius, the minotaur, represented the darker Narnian races, the creatures who’d served the White Witch centuries ago. Edmund and his sisters were interspersed between all the others. Susan almost imperceptibly shifted closer to Caspian as he sat in between her and Doctor Cornelius.

Normally, I’d sit next to Peter, but he stood in front of the table, facing the group with arms tightly crossed and face tense.

Only once I sat beside Trumpkin did I realize I had far too much nervous energy to sit. I tried to keep my legs from bouncing up and down, but the effort didn’t last long.

“We know we’re outmatched,” Peter said as soon as everyone was settled. “I know I don’t have to explain the stakes, because we know what we all stand to lose. So we’ll discuss ideas, and at the end we all will vote.”

Not once did Peter’s voice waver as he explained his plan to challenge Miraz, use Aslan’s How in the battle, and send Lucy into the forest to find Aslan. He was not speaking as Peter Pevensie of Spare Oom, but Peter the Magnificent, High King of Narnia. The furtive shift between the two could be hard to discern if one wasn’t paying enough attention, as Peter showed leadership and integrity in both personas.

When he switched from Peter Pevensie to High King Peter, his gentle nature sharpened into gentility, his consideration to jurisdiction, and his courage to assertion.

No matter how much I pined over Peter Pevensie, he was not who Caspian and I needed for this plan. Peter Pevensie would veto it immediately, but perhaps High King Peter wouldn’t.

Caspian shot a furtive glance at me, reminding me that the decision needed to be made before Peter finished talking, and our window was rapidly closing.

I fought the lump in my throat to take a breath. If the Narnians won, I would be hardly be any worse for wear. If they lost…well, none of the scenarios that involved the Narnians losing was pleasant.

So what it came down to was faith. How much faith did I have in the capability of the Narnians, in Aslan, in Peter?

The answer was obvious: I trusted Peter to the ends of this world and every other.

I gave Caspian a subtle nod. He nodded back, sealing the deal.

The only question remaining, I realized as I anxiously waited for Peter to finish, was did Peter have the same amount of trust in me?

Peter spread his hands. “The floor is open. Anyone have anything they would like to add?”

Caspian immediately stood, drawing all eyes. “May I speak, High King?” Peter nodded, clearly expecting Caspian to present a united front by agreeing with the plan.

The Narnians still nursing offense regarding Peter’s sudden departure in the Golden Age respected Caspian, and the Narnians leery of Caspian’s Telmarine heritage respected Peter. The authority was stretched between them, so if they both agreed on the plan, it was bound to go through.

Caspian wiped his hands on his pants nervously, seeming terrified. I could hardly blame him as I was moments away from having an unfortunate accident myself. “I know how to get back the Narnian soldiers we lost in the battle on the castle.”

At the mention of that night, the room filled with whispers and mutters.

Peter’s eyebrows drew close together.

Everyone in this army knew how that painful defeat still weighed on him. In fact, when the two of us drank together, he’d confessed that he was willing to do anything to make up for it.

But right now, Peter didn’t say anything, which told me he smelled something fishy.

“Challenges traditionally have included conditions. As part of the challenge, we can make an exchange to get the hostages back.”

“What could we possibly exchange for forty hostages?” Reepicheep asked.

Caspian’s head swiveled to me, and with it, every other head in the room.

With knees shaking and blood running cold, I stood with the grace hammered into my since birth. “Me.”

“You?” Trufflehunter repeated, his badger nose lifting in the air, clearly smelling something fishy as well. “Begging your pardon, but why would they want you?”

“She’s a traitor, and Miraz don’t hold with no traitors,” Trumpkin said in his specially blunt way.

“I’m not just any Telmarine.” Every mite of my body resisted the words I was about to share, fighting to keep the secret that I’d kept for months. But now was the time for sacrifices. “My full name is Lady Y/N Glozelle.”

Patterwig’s tail puffed up. “General Glozelle is is is is is is your father?!” The habit of repeating words was common for talking squirrels, especially when they got overexcited.

I braced myself as best I could. “Yes.”

There was a beat of silence as everyone seemed to process this.

Then the room burst into noise, everyone talking over each other at once.

Trufflehunter covered his eyes with his paws. “This is insane.”

“What game are you playing here?” Trumpkin demanded, standing up to walk closer to me. “Are you a spy?”

“No, of course not!” I said, more sharply and defensively than I’d anticipated.

“This could work,” Edmund mumbled from behind me as Susan across from me crossed her arms with suspicion.

“She is a lady?” Reepicheep asked, crossing in front of Trumpkin to point a accusing finger at Caspian. “You said she was a sympathetic servant at the castle!”

To his credit, Caspian didn’t flinch.

Reepicheep rounded on me, more threatening than a talking mouse had any right to be. “Does the Telmarine believe we are untrustworthy?” He palmed his sword, which despite its smaller size could make me bleed just as well as any other sword. “If that’s the case, it speaks more to your character than ours!”

Murmurs swept through the room.

I stepped further into the center, taking great care not to look at Peter, for I knew my nerve would fail if I met his blue eyes. “None of you have ever had reason to question my allegiance before.” I made imploring eye contact with each person. “That shouldn’t change simply because of my heritage.”

Grumbling reached my ears, growing louder and louder. Caspian and I looked at each other helplessly, wondering how to proceed.

From behind me came one word.

“Quiet.”

The talking immediately ceased.

My response was instinctual, like Peter’s voice carried some sort of gravity. Before I made the decision to focus on Peter, I’d already shifted to face him.

His face spoke of the face of High King Peter, eerily calm with unruffled authority. But his knuckles spoke of the knuckles of Peter Pevensie, clenching the hilt of his sword so tightly, they whitened.

Fighter versus diplomat.

Actions versus words.

Man versus king.

High King Peter met my gaze. “Forty hostages for one member of nobility is uneven. They’ll never make the trade.”

We’d known someone would point that out eventually.

“Y/N?” Caspian prompted, waiting for me to explain.

I opened my mouth, but my voice failed.

I didn’t know what expression I bore, but dread wove through Peter’s features. He leaned back, resting his weight on the Stone Table, like he was praying Aslan’s strength would course through him. “What is it?” he asked. “What else is there?”

I couldn’t tell him, not when his face was like a slab of stone. I looked to Caspian for strength, and he nodded encouragingly.

“The night Miraz’s son was born,” I began, my voice shaky, “he was thrilled. He’d wanted a son for years, and now that he had one, he wanted as many as he could. But it took years for Queen Prunaprismia to conceive. She wasn’t likely to bear him another child, so Miraz decided he wanted to take a second wife.”

Suddenly the only sounds in the room were the noises that floated down the hallway. I wasn’t sure anyone in the room was breathing as everyone followed the train of thought through to its conclusion.

“You?” Peter asked, his voice breaking under the burden of the word. His mask had broken, and the whole tangled mess of Peter Pevensie’s horror and fury bled through.

I had to avert my eyes.

Fortunately, Caspian seemed to understand. He stepped forward, allowing me to step back. “General Glozelle offered Y/N’s hand in marriage, and my uncle accepted, under the condition that General Glozelle was to kill me in my sleep that very night.”

Trufflehunter turned to Doctor Cornelius. “You got them both out.”

Doctor Cornelius nodded. “I overheard the deal being made and moved quickly to get Y/N and Caspian out of the castle. We didn’t have much time because-” The doctor stopped, shooting me a glance.

I wanted to tell him it was alright, that he could share everything, but I was too overcome to get myself together.

“Miraz was eager to make the match. He talked of Y/N’s beauty and–” Doctor Cornelius paused, taking off his spectacles to wipe them with his tunic and then place them back on his nose.

My eyes slid to Peter, my hands itching to cover his ears for this next part.

“And?” Trumpkin prompted.

“And he started, urm, dicussing her, uh...apparent fertility.”

Peter’s right eye twitched. Everyone in the room cringed and shifted where they sat, the story sitting about as well as I’d expected. Peter faced the stone table, putting his back to everyone, clearly trying to hide whatever expression was on his face.

Guilt wrought it’s way through me, and I started wishing there was a way to have saved Peter from all this. But there was no time for frivolous things like wishes.

I stepped forward again, and everyone’s eyes fell on me. The air felt stifling, but I knew it was just the effect of the obvious pity filling the room. I shoved the unpleasant feelings aside. “Miraz wants me, and he’d be willing to do a lot to get me back, even return the hostages.”

Trumpkin shook his head. “You’re still a traitor. Even if Miraz didn’t know about your personal allegiances, you disappeared from the castle at the same time as Caspian. It’s not a leap to think that the two of you left together.”

For once, I was thankful for the dwarf’s confrontation, because while every one else in the room regarded me like a whimpering puppy, he was bringing the conversation back to the topic at hand. “What if I was a hostage? I wasn’t at the attack on the castle, and no one saw me leaving with Caspian and the doctor, so at least there wouldn’t be any conflict in my story. Beyond that, it’s just a matter of making it convincing.”

“What do you you you you you you mean by ‘convincing’?”

“All of us have old scrapes and bruises, and since rations have been low, we’re all a bit starved.” I shrugged. “With some fresher wounds, I would look the part of a prisoner.”

"Absolutely not,” Peter interjected. “We’re not doing this.”

Here it was, the part where Caspian and I had to be more convincing than the most influential monarch in the history of Narnia.

“Now, hold on,” Reepicheep argued, never one to back down from a fight. “Y/N is the one who has to risk it all here. If she’s willing to do it, so why shouldn’t we?”

“We don’t even know if those soldiers are still alive,” Asterius rumbled. A visible ripple cascaded through the room as the various people tried to work around the idea that the forty soldiers we lost were dead.

“If they aren’t, then we don’t make the trade,” Glenstone answered. “There’s no harm done.”

“Well,” Trumpkin approached the stone table to stand beside Peter, nonverbally declaring what side he was on, “what if Miraz decides to kill those who go with the challenge to take Y/N back instead of humoring the conditions of the challenge?”

“That is hardly the impression Miraz will want to make on the lords as a new king.” Caspian’s voice was steady and sure, showing he was every bit as much a leader as Peter. “Miraz must maintain his image. He must be fair, but if he doesn’t get Y/N back, if he chooses not to make the exchange, he will have Y/N’s father to answer to. Glozelle has just as many alliances as Miraz.”

“But if Miraz agrees to the duel, then why do we need the extra soldiers?” Lucy asked. “The conditions of the challenge state that whomever loses must surrender.”

“The Telmarines aren’t going to stick to the duel.” Susan’s voice was grim. “They’re itching for a fight, so we need to tip the scales in our favor however we can.”

Trumpkin frowned. “We don’t even know that she,” he jutted a finger at me, distrust lacing his voice like nightshade in wine, “cares about our cause! She could be playing both sides, perhaps using us as a means to an end.” The accusation stung, but I couldn’t blame him. Nikabrik’s betrayal affected him the most. It would be natural for him to see duplicity everywhere.

“Y/N is trustworthy.” Glenstone’s normally smooth tone sounded a bit uneven. “I know it.”

“If the noble centaur believes in the lady’s integrity, then I do too,” Reepicheep announced. “And if the lady is in the Telmarine camp, why, she can sabotage some of their weapons and armor.”

“Not a bad idea,” Edmund mused.

“But it’s too big a risk!” Trufflehunter exclaimed. “What will the Telmarines do if they find out she’s working against them?”

“Now is the time for risks!” Susan got to her feet, walking over to Caspian. “If we don’t take this risk, we risk losing.”

Suddenly everyone was on their feet, all arguing over every imaginable aspect of this plan. Some argued that it was moronic to try while others argued it was moronic not to try. Overwhelmed, I hung back, leaning against one of the columns for support as I tried to make sense of it all.

Only Wimbleweather the giant didn’t join the fray. His gentle eyes just took it all in. He hasn’t said a thing this whole time, I realized. What was running through his mind?

“Have you all quite finished?” Peter shouted, visibly losing his temper. All fell silent, the limelight shifting to him. He stood on the step of the stone table, elevating him a head above everyone else. His eyes blazed, and his fists were clenched. “We’re not doing this.”

“Peter.” I drew near, surprising even myself with my interjection. All the heads twisted in my direction. “It’s not your decision to make.”

Peter’s nostrils flared. “It’s not a decision at all.”

“Yes, it is.”

“If your safety in that camp can’t be guaranteed, then no, it isn’t.”

“You can’t guarantee I’ll be safe here either.”

Peter glared at me so fiercely, I was very nearly cowed. Only knowing we were being watched and my defense of this plan was being measured kept me from remaining silent.

“This move could be the difference between winning and losing."

“Not like this.” Peter folded his arms, resolute and unyielding. “We can’t win like this.”

I ached to reach out and comfort him, but I couldn’t, because I would only be comforting Peter Pevensie. I sent him as pleading a look as I could. “There are casualties in every war.”

“I don’t need you to lecture me on war.” Peter growled. “I helped win a war before your ancestors were even born!”

“If I may interject,” Doctor Cornelius said, walking to stand in between Peter and I. “High King, you started this meeting by saying we would take a vote.”

Peter paled, his lips parting in realization as he remembered what he’d said. Genuine fear flickered in his face for the first time since the meeting started. He glanced around at the people in the room, realizing that their opinions were about to rule one way or another.

“I believe the time has come to vote.”

Without instruction, everyone wordlessly returned to their sitting positions, turning to face the doctor.

“As the mediator and as a Telmarine, I will abstain from the vote. If you are in favor, say ‘aye’. If you are opposed, say ‘nay’. Majority rules.” Doctor Cornelius faced Peter. “High King?”

“Nay,” Peter said immediately, with a tone that promised repercussions for any who dared to say anything different.

“Prince Caspian?”

“Aye.”

“Lady Y/N?”

I couldn’t help but notice Doctor Cornelius’s use of my title. “Aye.” Peter’s eyes flicked towards me, and upon seeing them, I looked away, unable to face the storm brewing.

“Queen Susan?”

“Aye.”

“King Edmund?”

Edmund scratched the top of his head and let out a sigh. “Aye.”

Four to one. Three more votes and the ayes would have it. Terror seized my insides as I started to realize how close this plan was to going through.

“Queen Lucy?”

The young woman shook her head frantically. “Nay.” Caspian let out a frustrated sigh, but I knew Lucy’s compassion would never stand for putting me in direct risk, especially when she believed so fiercely that Aslan would intervene.

“Trumpkin?”

“Nay,” the dwarf replied with a look of deep distrust thrown in my direction.

“Trufflehunter?”

“I’m sorry,” Trufflehunter said, to whom I wasn’t sure. “Nay.”

We were tied, four to four.

“Reepicheep?”

The talking mouse drew his sword and crossed it over his chest. “Aye.”

“Patterwig?”

“My allegiance is with with with with with the High King.” Patterwig bounded over to Peter, coming to rest beside his foot. “Nay.”

Tied again.

“Asterius?”

“Nay.”

I sucked in a breath. Peter shot a glance at me, having done the math too. Six to five against. One more nay, and the nays would win.

“Glenstone?”

Glenstone’s eyes rested on Doctor Cornelius, then on Peter, then Caspian, and finally came to a stop at me. “Aye.”

Tied again.

All attention moved to Wimbleweather, who looked quite ready to run from the room.

“You’re the tie-breaker,” Doctor Cornelius said. “What say you?”

I didn’t know much about the giant—no one did as he preferred to keep to himself, being the only giant in the Narnian army. If he’d known before this that the fate of Narnia would very well rest in his hands, he might’ve declined to be a part of the meeting.

“Lady Y/N,” Wimbleweather said softly, “are you truly willing to make this sacrifice?” He held up a finger before I could say anything. “Don’t answer right away.”

“Y/N-“ Peter began warningly, but multiple people shushed him.

Wimbleweather’s gentle eyes did not stray or probe. He simply waited.

I glanced around the room, committing everyone’s face to memory as I reminded myself of what I was fighting for. Whatever happened, I would not remember these people as prisoners, slaves, or unmarked graves, but as determined warriors.

The one thing that gave me pause was the distress on Peter’s face. Strategic, detached High King Peter was gone. In his place was a scared young man, silently begging me with minute shakes of his head to back out of this.

“For Narnia,” I said, addressing Wimbleweather, “I’d do it a hundred times over.”

The giant nodded, seemingly unsurprised. “Then I say aye.”

For a moment, his reply seemed to echo through the room. No one said anything. Doctor Cornelius seemed speechless, but he likely saw no reason in declaring what we all already knew.

“The majority wins.” Edmund said finally, his voice loud enough for everyone but his face directed towards Peter. “We’re going through with it.”

Peter surveyed the people in the room with such an expression of complete betrayal, it made my stomach swirl with shame. I couldn’t even be happy that our plan worked, because getting the plan through was not the hard part of this plan. Similarly, it was not victory that shone in Caspian’s face, but resignation.

“Peter?” I said tentatively.

Without so much as a word, Peter stalked out of the cavern.

-

“Pulling your punches isn’t going to do any good,” I reminded Glenstone. “We’re trying to make it believable.”

Caspian and Doctor Cornelius were aiding the four kings and queens in preparing the challenge while the others took it upon themselves to spread the word of our plan.

I hadn’t seen Peter since he left this very cavern.

The centaur and I stood by the stone table, and I was doing my very best not to stall, even as my whole body trembled with anxiety. Glenstone raised his hand, and I flinched, shutting my eyes and waiting for the blow.

But the hit never came.

Glenstone dropped his arm and shook his head. “I can’t do this.” His hooves clopped on the stone floor as he backed away from me. “I can’t hurt one of my own people.”

Own people?

He considered me one of his own people?

My heart swelled, and I almost threw my arms around Glenstone for his words, but that would only make his task harder. “I’m sorry to be asking this of you, but it is necessary.” I tried to smile reassuringly, ignoring the thrumming where my stomach used to be.

Glenstone shook his head slowly before reaching out. Involuntarily, I jerked away from him, but he was only placing his hands on my shoulders.

“Sorry,” I said with an awkward laugh. “Just jumpy.” I squared my shoulders. “I’m ready now.”

I’d extensively prepared myself, and in that extensive preparation, I’d decided I was going to be silent and take every blow in stride. But with every trepidatious moment that passed, I got closer to bleating like a fearful goat.

Glenstone didn’t do anything for a long moment, just increasing his grip on my shoulders.

Then, without warning, he shoved me to one side, hard.

I lost my balance, raising my hands to catch myself as the ground rushed nearer.

Pain burst in my left wrist, so sharp and sudden, I let out a gasp. The vicious sensation that burned through the joint, felt new and different than pain I’d felt before. But then again, did pain ever grow old? Rolling onto my back, I clutched the wrist to my chest and breathed in time with the throbbing.

It didn’t help.

I squeezed my eyes shut against the instant regret, reminding myself of the situation.

Gentle hands helped me sit up, and I blinked to see Glenstone’s troubled face peering down at me.

“Halfway there,” he said lightly. It was probably intended to be encouraging, but being punctuated with dull stabs of pain, it only sounded ominous.

“Okay.” I struggled to my feet, facing Glenstone again. “Let’s go.”

Glenstone didn’t even give me the chance to breathe before his hand shot out, striking me in the face.

A cry of pain broke through my lips as the breath was knocked out of my lungs.

Glenstone hit me a second time, harder. His fist collided with my jaw, my bottom lip accidentally getting caught between my teeth. This time, the momentum sent me backwards, crashing into the stone wall behind me with such force,.

“Stop!”

Having slidden down the rock to sit on the floor, I lifted my spinning head, trying to see who’d shouted.

Before I regained my wits, a warm hand cupped my stinging cheek.

“Y/N.”

“Peter?” I asked blearily, blinking a few times to return the world to the correct orientation. When my vision stopped spinning, I saw it was Peter crouching beside me with such great affliction in his eyes, my heart ached more than any other part of me.

“Y/N,” he said so quietly and gently, it broke my heart.

“I’m okay,” I gasped. “I’m good, I’m good.”

Glenstone kneeled beside us as best he could.

“Can you give us a minute?” Peter asked the centaur without looking away from me.

“My king–”

Peter whipped his head around. “You voted for this.” The accusing undercurrent in his voice didn’t go unnoticed. “It was your right to vote,” Peter acknowledged. “But I’ll thank you to get away from her.”

“He doesn’t mean that,” I mumbled. “Thank you, Glenstone.”

Glenstone glanced at me with an expression that said ‘good luck’ and got up, lumbering through the doorway, leaving me alone with Peter.

I brought my wrist to my chest again, thanking Aslan that I didn’t have to face another blow. One look at Peter’s face, and I knew I wouldn’t be facing the High King either.

Peter’s eyes fixed upon the wall beside my head as he withdrew the hand that had been cupping my face. He didn’t straighten from his crouch nor lean away from me. I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. He just stared, his jaw clenched tight.

“Are you here to join in the fun?” I finally asked.

“Don’t,” Peter said sharply, his blue eyes shooting to mine. “That’s not funny.”

I tried to get up, but I only managed to move about an inch before falling limp against the stone again with a pained groan.

“What did Glenstone do to you?” Peter murmured, his thumb gently touching the part of my lip that was starting to swell.

“Just what he needed to,” I replied as best I could. When Peter pulled his hand away, both of us stared at the bit of blood on his thumb. I ran my tongue over the wound, the salty taste confirming that my lip was indeed bleeding.

“How many times did he hit you?” Peter asked. “How badly does it hurt?”

I shook my head, which immediately I knew was a mistake as my vision spun a bit. “Doesn’t matter,” was all I said.

“What can I do?” Peter asked. “Lucy has her cordial, but–”

“–but that would defeat the point.” I tried for a laugh, but it sounded like a screech. “Glenstone would just have to hit me again.”

Peter stood, putting some distance between us.

“Peter.”

He stopped, only a pace away from the door. “What?”

“Don’t go.” He ran a hand over his face with such vexation, my guilt compounded. “I know you’re angry with me. That’s okay. Just be angry here.”

Peter braced his hands on his hips, his expression like thunder. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you were never going to like the plan.”

“You know perfectly well that’s not what I’m talking about,” Peter snapped. “Why didn’t you tell me about who you are?”

“Because that’s not who I really am. Come on, if anyone knows that, you do.”

“Do I?” Peter asked, his nostrils flaring in time with his temper. “Because now I’m not sure I know you at all.”

I sighed. I knew he didn’t mean it, but that didn’t keep it from stinging.

“I’m sorry.” Peter threaded a his hand through his hair, making it stand up in multiple directions “You’re right. I’m angry.”

“I’m doing what I think is necessary. If you were in my position, you’d do the same.”

Peter let out a quiet huff, coming closer. “You’re right.” He came closer, lowering himself to the ground to sit beside me.

We sat in silence, and it was in the silence that I realized how much pain I was in. My wrist, my cheekbone, my lip, my back, all of them stung from Glenstone’s strikes. Funny how attacks from a friend hurt more than attacks from an enemy.

Hopefully, there was enough time before the challenge for the bruising to show.

I chuckled.

“What?” Peter asked.

“I was just thinking how odd it is to be hoping for bruising and swelling.”

Peter didn’t laugh.

I didn’t expect him to, for I couldn’t imagine all the thoughts and worries churning inside that mind of his. Peter was a worrier, probably always had been. Whether that was the product of being the oldest, of his childhood, or simply was part of his personality, he was always fretting about something, and in wartime, there was no shortage of things to fret about.

Today had been particularly trying for him, which was at least partially my fault.

“It’s forty hostages for one hostage,” I said finally. There was no point in pretending like Peter wasn’t still mulling over the plan in his head. “That’s solid math.”

Peter jutted out his chin stubbornly. “I’ve always hated math.” He turned his head, looking at me. “You deserve better.” His voice was so soft, I nearly didn’t hear him.

“War doesn’t care about the deserving.” I looked down at my wrist. “And Miraz definitely doesn’t.”

“But why does it have to be you?” Peter asked, his voice still quiet, but with a demanding edge now. “I would give anything to–” He broke off, looking away from me.

If only he knew how much I would give for him to finish that sentence.

With things how they were, I couldn’t ask that of him.

As slow as I could manage, I leaned into Peter. When he didn’t react, I uncertainly rested my unbruised cheek on his shoulder. He shifted a bit, and for a moment, I worried he was uncomfortable.

But then his hand gently moved towards mine. When his fingers wrapped around my injured arm, moving my wrist towards him, a jolt of pain ran up the limb. I hissed through my teeth, causing him to pause. “How much does it hurt?” he asked gently.

“It’s fine.”

“A lot then,” he said, more to himself than to me. Then, he leaned his head down. Before I could ask him what he was doing, he gingerly pressed his warm, soft lips to the junction of where my hand met my arm.

“Hurts less now,” I managed to say, my voice high-pitched and breathy.

Peter let out a very satisfied hum, and something sparked in his eyes. He placed another feather-light kiss on my wrist, slightly further down my arm.

“If you keep going,” I said with a slight rasp, “you’re going to fry my brain.”

Peter chuckled, but straightened again, resting his head against the stone wall at our backs. “I don’t know what outcome to hope for,” he confessed lowly, gently running his fingers over my wrist. “Because if Miraz accepts, it means Narnia has a fighting chance, but...but I lose you.”

I shook my head, and the world spun less than it did last time. “You’re not losing me. I’m on your side, regardless of which side of the field I’m standing on.”

“But what if I lose? It’s bad enough that I’ll be letting everyone down, but if I know that man,” Peter shuddered, “is going to marry you and force you to have his children?”

“That will never happen,” I swore. Too late, I realized I’d spoken with far too much conviction.

Peter’s blue eyes rested on my face, and never had I been so examined by a simple look. “You’ve planned something.” I avoided looking at him, but Peter caught my chin, bringing it back towards him. “Tell me.”

I longed to, and yet, how could I? How could I look Peter in the eye and tell him that I would sooner fling myself off of a tower in the Telmarine castle than marry Miraz and bear his sons?

“There’s going to be a battle,” I said instead. “I can feel it in my bones. And I will fight until there is no breath left in me.”

Peter lifted his hand, gently covering my lips with his fingers. “Don’t talk like that.”

I dodged his hand. “I’d rather die as a Narnian than go back to be a stranger in my homeland.”

“I’d rather you live.”

Impatience curled in my chest, giving me enough energy to get to my feet. “I can’t believe you.” I stalked away from him.

“Wait!” I heard the sounds of scrambling as Peter leapt to his feet.

“Why are you denying me this?” I asked the wall, not wanting to look at Peter’s face during this argument. “I’ve fought in this war like everyone else. Why should my fate be different from theirs?”

“I can’t fight that duel unless I know that you’re going to live either way.”

I spun to face him. “Are you commanding me?” I asked. “As my king, are you ordering me to prioritize my life over everything else?”

The light from the torches caught on the mistiness in Peter’s eyes. “I’m not ordering,” he said softly, “I’m begging.” He stepped forward, reaching out to grab my uninjured hand. “And I’m not begging as your king.” He brought my hand to his chest.

At first, all I could feel was the rough tunic he wore, which was certainly not common garb for a king. Warmth seeped into my fingers from his skin. Every time I’d ever touched Peter, his skin radiated heat like a furnace.

Then I could feel his heart hammer away against my fingers at a rate equal to mine. The longer I could feel his heartrate, the more I realized why people referred to the core or center of things as the heart. To get close enough to the heart meant one was close enough to cause trouble.

It was an expression of trust.

Somehow, without even using words, Peter had somehow told me one of the most tender things I’d ever heard.

“Who are you begging as?” I whispered, even though I was sure I already knew the answer. I felt Peter’s chest rise as he took a large breath and then fall as he let it out.

“As a man who loves you.”

There it was.

Laid bare and complete.

I furrowed my brows, focusing on the hand still resting on Peter’s chest. “And if...” I swallowed hard, trying to gather my words. “If I were to ask you not to duel Miraz, and I begged as a woman who loves you...what would you do?”

Peter didn’t answer, and I nodded slowly.

“You are the high king of Narnia. As the high king, it is your right and your responsibility to duel Miraz.” Peter nodded grimly. I removed my hand from him, feeling much colder. “And it is my right and my responsibility to finish what I started.”

“You’re right,” Peter said after a beat. “You’re right.” He hung his head. “It’s not fair of me.” The defeat in his voice was a far deeper wound to carry.

For all our care and intentionality to avoid this very scenario—when our personal desires and our duty misaligned—we’d ended up here just the same, only with fewer moments to spend together.

I couldn’t figure out if desperation somehow made me feel braver or if it was simply a impulse, but I reached out to him, cradling his cheek, comfortingly running my thumb across his skin. Guiding his chin up with my hand, I saw that his eyes were wet with tears. I almost asked what was wrong, but that would be a foolish question, because everything was wrong.

“What are you thinking?” I asked instead, dropping my hand.

“I’m thinking I don’t know if–” Peter drew in a shuddering breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to let you go, damn the consequences.” His eyes climbed my face, finally reaching some point beneath my nose. “And I’m thinking…I’d kiss you right now,” he murmured, brushing his thumb against my bottom lip, “if I wasn’t worried I was going to hurt you.”

My heart leapt. “I’m thinking you’d hurt me more by not kissing me.”

Peter didn’t react much beyond watching me. He searched my face for so long, I started to wonder if he was expected to find a rough edge or a seam that he could slide his fingers under and rip up a façade. But I could have no façade with him.

“This isn’t how love is supposed to happen,” I murmured. “It’s not supposed to make doing the right thing harder.”

A dead smile spread across Peter’s face, accentuating the lifeless look in his eye. “All’s fair in love and war.”

Perhaps for the first time, I fully understood that saying. It wasn’t a statement to excuse crimes; it was a bitter truth about life.

Peter pressed his forehead to mine, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m going to win that duel,” he said, his voice rough, his grip on the back of my neck shaking slightly. “I promise you.”

I gripped his arm. “Okay.”

“I’m going to win it because we, we need more time.”

I wanted to tell him that once this war was won, we had the rest of our lives, but I would not raise his hopes falsely. Not when we were fighting in a war. Not when I was leaving in the morning.

“We have tonight,” I whispered,

Wordlessly, he pulled me into him. He held me so tightly I knew what he was thinking.

It’s not enough.

-

I knew the moment I awoke that our time was up, for I felt too refreshed to have only slept for a few hours. Even so, I kept my eyes closed as I gently traced the arm wrapped around my waist, ignoring the pangs of pain from my wrist as my fingers dragged against the rough fabric of Peter’s tunic. This was worth it.

“It must be morning by now.” The drowsiness in Peter’s voice made such delicious assurances, I opened my eyes.

His hair stuck up in the front, and there were indentations on his left cheek from where he’d slept on his own arm. Even his eyebrows spoke of the natural unvarnished semblance that came from sleep. I lifted a hand to smooth them down, but when they were smoothed, I was too reluctant to move away.

So I traced the crooked lane of his nose. “Did you break your nose once?” I asked as my finger reached his soft lips.

Peter nodded. “My face was swollen for days.” His breath warmed my fingertip, causing goosebumps to erupt on my arms.

“How does my face look?” I asked, wishing there was a mirror to look in.

Peter wrinkled his nose. “Purple.”

“My favorite color,” I mumbled, tracing my fingers up his jaw to his earlobe.

“Is it?” Peter asked, and I nodded my head. “How did I not know that?”

“Well, the only colors that matter in this army are red and gold.”

Peter’s smile turned teasing. “Maybe I should change Narnia’s colors to purple.”

I laughed. “What a romantic gesture.”

He smirked. “I’m a romantic guy.” We laughed together as I followed the curve of Peter’s ear. “Are you going to eat breakfast?” Peter asked softly.

I buried my face into his chest, suddenly feeling shy. “No. I’m a hostage, remember?”

“I don’t know how Narnia does things now, but in the Golden Age, we fed our hostages.”

"Don’t start,” I warned, tapping his chest in admonishment. “What’s done is done.”

A moment of silence passed.

“I should get ready,” I said reluctantly, starting to sit up, but a hand settled on the back of my head.

“Stay. Just for a minute.” The hand started rubbing comforting circles onto my temple.

I conceded, pressing my cheek to his torso. “How are you feeling about the duel?”

Peter’s chest depressed underneath me as he let out a sigh. “It will be what it will be.” His fingers moved up my forehead to lightly brush my hair.

“Will it be too distracting for you if I’m at the duel?”

The hand froze. “I want you there. I want to see you and know that you’re okay.”

“Will it be distracting?” I repeated. Peter’s silence was louder than any admission. I lifted my head to press a cheek to Peter’s jaw, the closest part of him I could reach. “I’ll make up some excuse about being too scared to go to the duel.”

Peter frowned, but nodded.

I sighed. “Now it’s really time for me to start getting ready.”

Peter’s grip tightened, and I knew his instincts were fighting him harder than Miraz ever could. “I don’t think I can watch you leave.”

I sat up. “Then we say our goodbyes now.”

Peter sat up, looping his arms around me and resting his chin on my head. I shut my eyes tight. My future teetered between two outcomes. Shortly, I would walk into the Telmarine camp, masquerading as an underling to my enemies.

But I wasn’t there yet.

In this moment, I was with the man I loved.

And it was the best moment the Lion could’ve afforded me.

-

“We’ve decided that Edmund, Glenstone, and Wimbleweather will accompany the challenge,” Caspian said with poise. Without Peter there, Caspian was taking the lead with all the monarchs and representatives. “Remember, Miraz is tied by honor. As a new king, his position is unstable, and acting with dishonor does not instill the confidence he needs to solidify his reign.”

Edmund nodded with a very studious look on his face, and I remembered what the queens had told me about Edmund academic successes.

“When will they leave?” Reepicheep asked.

“As soon as Y/N’s ready.”

All eyes turned towards me. I gulped. “I guess that means I have to go get ready.”

Susan stood, holding the dress I’d been wearing when I fled the castle. “We couldn’t find your Telmarine shoes.”

“Barefoot it is then,” I said as brightly as I could manage, determined to keep my fear from showing.

I took the gown from Susan, looking down at it with everything incompatible with fondness. It had many a wrinkle and snag on it, but it didn’t matter much. I was trying to win a war, not score a marriage.

Apparently, I’d already scored one.

I left the room for privacy. Even though my time with the Narnians had been brief compared to my years spent in Telmarine court, I couldn’t help feeling like an imposter in my own dress. Deciding not to linger on it, I changed quickly and re-entered the room, where Glenstone stood, holding a rope and wearing a embarrassed look.

“Miraz will expect a hostage to be bound and gagged and possibly blindfolded.”

I swallowed, already imagining the rope burns I’d get from the coarse cords. “Alright then,” I brandished my wrists, “tie me up.”

“Goodbyes first,” Caspian said softly.

I shook my head. “No. No goodbyes.” I gazed around the room at all the Narnians here. Whether they’d voted aye or nay, I didn’t care, because they were still my family. I swallowed hard. “I will see you all tomorrow, after the duel.”

I walked up to Glenstone, holding up my hands.

While everyone watched, Glenstone looped the rope around my wrists tightly, giving me no room to separate my wrists, a fact that made my injured wrist smart. As my mobility was removed, the trickles of fear started.

This was really happening. I was headed back to the Telmarines of my own free will.

My breathing sped up.

“Hey,” Caspian said quietly, drawing my gaze. “It’ll be okay. It’s just for a day, the duel’s tomorrow morning. It’s just 24 hours.”

I nodded like a helmet being bobbed on a string. He was right, it was just a measly 24 hours. I could do anything for 24 hours. “I’m good, I’m ready.”

Judging by the faces of everyone around me, no one believed me.

“Wait!”

I spun in time to see Peter jogging into the room.

He breathed heavily as he walked solidly up to me.

“Peter?” I managed to ask before his arms came around me, his lips meeting mine.

My lip stung but it couldn’t compare to the searing pain in my chest, as if Peter was taking a red hot poker and pressing his brand onto my heart, not knowing that it was already marked as his.

Fearing I’d lose my balance and fall head-first into a bottomless pit, I rested my bound hands on his chest. Then Peter’s hand abandoned my face for the back of my neck, holding in me in place as he kissed me with enough care to make me slip at the edge of the pit.

Too soon, he broke away, brushing his fingers down my cheek. “You stay safe, okay? I’m counting on you.”

I wanted to tell him not to worry, but I knew he would. I wanted to swear up and down that everything would go as we hoped, but I didn’t know that for sure. We couldn’t make any promises or grand declarations to make the other feel better.

This was war.

“I’ll try my absolute best.”

I scanned his face, trying to memorize the soft gold locks, the nose that clearly had been broken once upon a time, the searing blue of his eyes, and the lips screwed up like he was trying not to cry.

“Pete, I have to go,” I whispered.

Peter shut his eyes, nodding.

Then, abruptly, he pulled away, like tearing off the bandage was the only possible way to part, and with his expression of deep pain and grief, I wondered how gaping his wound was.

He left the room, and only then did I remember the other people in the room.

I swiftly glanced at them, fully expecting teasing or grossed out expressions.

Instead, I saw there was not a dry eye in the room.

Edmund quietly cleared his throat. “Time for the gag,” he said. “Any last words?”

I couldn’t tell if the king was trying to be humorous or gracious. “Do what it takes to sell this, okay? Whether it’s kicking me around or shouting at me, just sell it.”

Edmund glanced over his shoulder at the doorway his brother had just exited through. “But Peter-”

“-will never know,” I finished. “Promise me.”

From the look on his face, he would rather eat his own foot than make that promise, but he gave one single nod, and that was enough for me.

He tied the gag before pulling a sack over my head. The limited air didn’t help me in trying not to hyperventilate, and no matter how loosely Edmund tied the gag, there was no way to feel comfortable with a piece of cloth preventing me from closing my mouth.

A hand rested on my shoulder, too large to be Edmund or Glenstone’s, so I assumed it was Wimbleweather guiding me as I walked. After some time, I felt the ground underneath my bare feet turn from stone to grass that made my feet itch like fire, and the heat of sunshine.

We must’ve been walking through the field between the Telmarines and Aslan’s How. After what felt like only a few minutes, Wimbleweather pulled me to a harsh stop.

I could hear Edmund verbally sparring with Miraz, but I couldn’t hear the specific negotiating of the terms of the deal. The bag over my head muffled everything. I didn’t know how far away from them I was. The only thing I could truly see or feel was the heavy hand on my shoulder.

But even if I couldn’t hear what he was saying, the sound of Miraz’s raised voice left a sour taste in my mouth. It was probably a blessing that there was no food in my stomach if I was about to see the unprincipled king again.

The heavy hand clamped around my upper arm, dragging me forward and pushing me down so hard that I legitimately fell to my knees.

“There’s another condition of the challenge,” I heard Edmund say.

I did not know what I was expecting when the sack was roughly pulled off of my head, but it certainly wasn’t what I saw.

The lords all sat in a tight u-formation with Mirax in the center, my father on his immediate right and Lord Sopespian on Miraz’s immediate left. Grating noises filled the tent as every noble pushed their chair back and rose to their feet, staring at my revealed face in horror.

My father let out a choked sound. “Y/N?”

“Dad?” I said, trying to sound on the verge of tears. The gag muffled my speech, but everyone knew what I’d said.

“Unhand my daughter immediately!” my father thundered. Lord Mollegim elbowed my father to be quiet, but Lord Sorgis grabbed Lord Mollegim’s arm with a warning look.

Within moments, all the lords were squabbling, and a meager rush of satisfaction coursed through me. They’d proven Caspian’s assertion true; my father had many influential allies, and Miraz had his work cut out for him.

“Stop!” Miraz barked, and all the lords except my father froze, looking between their king, Edmund, and myself.

“What did you savages do to her?” my father growled.

Edmund placed a hand on my shoulder, and I made a show of trying to pull away. “When she found out the army was here, she tried to escape.” Clever Edmund, giving a specific reason for my injuries that made me appear even more in line with the Telmarine cause. “The deal is clear. Give us the forty Narnians you have as prisoners and we will give you your woman back.”

Miraz smiled, but he was clearly on edge. “Well, I’m afraid we didn’t let those savages live, so you’re out of luck with that condition of the challenge.”

Suddenly, Edmund grabbed my hair with uncharacteristic harshness and used it to pull me to my feet, a real cry of pain escaping from my lips. “Then we’ll take her back with us.”

“Wait!” cried my father’s voice. “Don’t hurt her, you can have the hostages!” Miraz shot my father a dirty look, but my father was too focused on me to see it.

“Lord Glozelle, think about this,” Lord Mollegim said. “It’s not wise to–”

“That is my daughter!” my father roared back.

Edmund didn’t release my hair, waiting for Miraz’s move.

He wasn’t the only one.

All the lords were looking at Miraz, some craning their necks to see better, every one of them seemingly holding their breaths, waiting for the verdict.

“I accept the challenge.”

“With every one of the conditions?” Edmund pressed.

Miraz’s lip curled, showing his distaste for Edmund. “With…all the conditions,” he reluctantly agreed. “Bring forth the hostages.”

The sack was once again pulled over my head.

Edmund and I had agreed before I’d been tied up that the sack would be kept over my head as the hostages were revealed so the hostages wouldn’t accidentally expose me.

I heard lots of fumbling and activity, but through it all Edmund’s hand rested on my shoulder.

After a great deal of time, Edmund squeezed my shoulder and then his hand disappeared.

Immediately the sack was torn off my head, revealing my father who immediately untied the gag. “Y/N, my darling, are you alright?”

“Get this off of me!” I wailed, raising my tied arms.

My dad pulled a dagger out of his belt, immediately cutting through the bindings. “What did they do to you?” he asked, pulling me into his chest and cradling me. I covered my face with my hands, trying to create a buffer for my aching face.

“The Narnians must pay for this,” my father growled. I didn’t know whom he was speaking to, but there was a murmur of agreement.

“Do not worry,” Miraz’s voice said. “They will.”

-

My father led me to a nearby tent. “Stay here,” he said before quickly walking out of the tent, leaving me to study the contents of the tent.

A chestnut chest rested beside a cot, the dark pattern on the top tugging at my memory. When I was young, I’d once peeked inside and nearly gasped at all the weapons that had rested inside. A wooden tub rested in the corner of the tent, beside a full-length mirror.

I stepped up to the mirror, nearly gasping at the sight of my own face.

My right cheekbone, a deep purple that matched the dark circles under my eyes, was twice the size of my left. A red scab ran through my bottom lip. My face was also thinner than I remembered, which was likely due to the food. There were patches of dirt all over my visible skin.

I looked like a vagrant.

Strangely, the thought made me smile.

The sound of footsteps reached my ears, and I quickly dropped the smile, spinning to face my father and a young woman carrying a bag.

“Do you know how they injured her?” the woman was asking my father as they entered the tent.

“No.” My father stopped, gesturing at me. “That’s her.”

The woman came closer. “Where are you injured, my lady?” she asked.

“I think my wrist might be sprained,” I replied. “And my face hurts.”

As the woman dug around in her bag, I glanced up, just in time to see my father walking away again.

I furrowed my brow. My father hadn’t asked me any questions, given me any reassurances, or even explained what he was doing before he did it. It was normal, I realized. More than normal. How could I have forgotten what it was like to be treated like a piece of furniture instead of a person?

Apparently, the time away had both dulled my memory and sharpened this reunion.

“When you’ve bathed,” the woman told me, “I’ll bind that wrist.” She dug around in her bag, pulling out herbs of all kinds and making a poultice before instructing me to hold it to my lip. “Most of the swelling and bruising will go down on their own.”

“Thank you,” I said meekly.

She nodded and left just before a parade of servants entered, pouring pitcher after pitcher of water into the bath.

One of them deposited a tray of fruit, bread, and cheese on my father’s cot, and my eyes suddenly welled with tears.

It’s just food, I told myself. It’s just water.

Yet the emotions swirled around me like vultures around a fresh corpse.

Only one servant remained in the tent. “Are you ready to bathe, my lady?” she asked.

When I nodded, she helped me undress and ease myself into the tub. The warm water felt heavenly against my aching body. The servant made quick work of massaging the soap into my skin and hair, wiping away the dirt and blood.

However good it felt to wash the filth away, a filth of a different, heavier kind settled on me.

The servant didn’t look me in the eye once, as was appropriate for our stations.

But instead of feeling respected, I felt sad.

I missed my people.

I missed Edmund and Reepicheep’s witty banter, Trumpkin’s odd way of talking, Lucy’s compassion. I wanted to hear the sound of Caspian’s voice, see the serious expressions of the centaurs despite the energized talking squirrels and mice standing on their backs and shoulders while they ate.

As I eyed the large plate of food beside the tub, I even missed the tiny rations of Aslan’s How because of the friends that I got to eat with. Now here I was, alone. And no amount of food in my stomach could fill the hole inside me.

I got out of the tub and the servant speedily wiped me down with a towel, wrapping a robe around me before scooping my dirty dress off the floor and leaving the tent.

The flimsy fabric of the robe clung to my wet skin, leaving little to the imagination. I missed the practical outfit I’d worn when I was with the Narnians. When I wore the loose pants and tunic of the Narnians, I felt like an adult, and a powerful one, which was a way I’d never felt growing up in the Telmarine court.

Here I was again, dressed like a helpless little girl.

I heard someone come through the tent. “Dad?” I called, still tying the ribbon that held the robe around me.

“Try again.”

My stomach flipped as I whirled to face Miraz.

“My king.” I curtsied as best I could without causing my robe to slide and show too much. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“I want some information from you.”

“About the Narnians?”

“Yes.”

My heart faltered, like it was holding it’s breath.

“Where did they keep you?”

“They tied me up in one of the caves, your majesty.”

“Did they feed you?”

“No.”

“Did they give you water?”

“Yes.”

“Why did they hurt you?”

I hesitated. Edmund had already answered that question. “I overheard one of the soldiers talking about the army, and I knew if I could just slip away and get out, that I’d be safe.”

Miraz stepped forward, and I willed myself to stay where I was as he lifted a hand to touch my swollen lip. “Does it hurt?”

Another odd question. “Yes, your majesty,” I said slowly.

His thumb rested on my scab, not dissimilar to when Peter had touched my lip. I tried to stand still, even as my skin crawled.

Slowly, Miraz pressed his thumb into the scab, the pressure steadily increasing. I let out a strangled sound, trying to pull away. Miraz gripped my upper arm, holding me in place. “Your majesty, you’re hurting me.”

“I underestimated,” he said under his breath. “Foolish of me.”

I blinked, confused. “Your majesty?”

“I underestimated your dedication to the Narnian cause.”

My knees went weak, and my voice shook betrayingly as I said: “I’m sorry?”

“You weren’t kidnapped. Kidnapping isn’t my nephew’s style. I know you left with him willingly.”

My stomach seized with fear. “No, I didn’t! He took me–”

“Save it.” Miraz’s hand moved to my swollen cheekbone. “You’re not that good a liar.”

“No! Why would I leave?”

“Shhhhh.” I flinched as Miraz gripped my injured wrist. “It’s alright, dear thing, don’t worry, no one else needs to know you’re a traitor.”

I opened my mouth to deny it further when I caught sight of the look in Miraz’s eyes.

He knew.

Even if it hadn’t been true, when Miraz decided something, his stubbornness would never waive. My fingers itched for a knife or sword to end it all right now, but I didn’t have anything but my fists. And Miraz was much larger than me.

I swallowed hard and gripped my hands into fists to keep from shaking. “What are you gonna do to me?”

“Oh, nothing for right now. I can’t be seen to go against your father while he’s been my most faithful ally. But in the coming weeks?” Miraz’s mouth broke into a grin.

My skin tingled with revulsion. I tried to pull away from him, but Miraz dragged me closer by my wrist. I let out a cry of pain as he pulled on it, causing me to lose my balance and fall into him. “Guards!” he cried.

Two armored soldiers came into the tent, one of them carrying chains. I tried to struggle, but it was useless. Within moments, my wrists and ankles were bound, the already irritated skin of my wrists stinging under the weight of the cool chains.

Panic seized in my chest as the full weight of the desperate situation dawned on me. My injuries combined with the chains, I wouldn’t be able to stand, much less run or sabotage the Telmarines like I’d planned.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Miraz said when the guards stepped away.

The guards nodded. “No one will be allowed into the tent, my liege,” one of them said.

“Not even Lord Glozelle?”

“Not even him, your majesty.”

“Good.” Miraz came closer to me, and I forced myself not to flinch as he planted a tender kiss to my forehead, a tender action for the soldiers’ benefit which revealed nothing of the corruption within. “I will see you tomorrow, my dear, before the duel.”

“You’re going to lose,” I said through gritted teeth. “The high king is a hundred times better than you.”

Instead of looking afraid, Miraz grinned. “It matters not. My army is bigger than his, even with the returned hostages. The Narnians all die tomorrow.” He stood straighter, like his bloodlust was strengthening him from the inside.

“You’re underestimating them.”

Miraz sent a look at the two soldiers. “Poor thing, she’s been brainwashed by the Narnians.”

The soldiers exchanged a look, and I knew there was no hope of convincing them otherwise.

“If you truly want to kill all the Narnians,” I said quietly, “you’re going to have to kill me too.”

Miraz laughed. “Oh, honey, you can’t change blood, and yours is Telmarine.” He crouched beside me, lowering his voice. “That’s why I’m still going to make you my wife.” He reached out to lightly run the ribbon securing my robe in between his fingers. “And I will enjoy finding ways to make you surrender.”

And with that, he swept out of the tent, taking all my hopes with him.

-

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