Annabelle is the Great Princess of Narnia. She is the daughter of Aslan, the Great King of Narnia. Aslan sends his daughter to Finchley, England. She is to discover and bring the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve to Narnia. She finds the Pevensies a...
Annabelle's POV: Thump thump. Thump thump. A faint heartbeat wakes me up. Wait a second, pillows don't have heartbeats. Suddenly, I realize that my pillow is firmer than it was last night. A slight tugging is present on my head. Is someone pulling my hair? I flutter my eyes open and realize that my pillow is actually Peter!
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And he is playing with my hair! My eyes meet his. He is gazing down softly at me. I can't help but turn into a tomato!
"You were my pillow on the train, so I'm your pillow now. You played with my hair, now I'm playing with yours," Peter says with an INCREDIBLY SEXY morning voice. I laugh softly, still groggy from sleep. I open my mouth to say something but I'm interrupted by a bright flash and loud crack! Bang! On instinct, I flinch and slam my eyes closed and curl into Peter's chest. It's not that I'm scared of lightning and thunder but where I'm from, lightning is nonexistent unless you're at sea, which I've never been so, this is new for me.
"Annabelle, are you scared?" Peter seems genuinely concerned. I slowly lift my head to meet his gaze.
"Would you laugh at me if I said I am?" I mutter softly before another flash and bang erupts and I rapidly curl into him again. His index finger glides under my chin and gently lifts my head to face his.
"Never," is all he says with a small smile. Wow! Most guys would laugh their butts off at the idea of the daughter of Aslan being afraid of storms. He is really something! He is sweet, caring, very comfortable, warm! Goodness! He is hot like a fire! In more ways than one! I lean over his shoulder finding the clock. 7:55!! I let out a slight yelp and fling myself from Peter's body. I use such great force that I fall onto the floor on my side of the bed. I'm suddenly freezing. "Annabelle?" Peter leans over looking at me on the floor confused.
"We're going to be late for breakfast!" I say urgently. I grab a maroon dress, undergarments, and Mary Jane shoes. I run into the washroom and shut the door. I strip and put on my clothes.
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I quickly style my hair.
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I remember to knock. Before I can ask if he is clothed, the washroom door flings open, revealing a well-dressed Peter. "You look lovely, milady. Could you ever honor such a common gentleman like myself to escort you to breakfast?" He jokes around in a funny, MUCH thicker British accent and bows, then offers me his arm.
"Why if you insist, kind sir," I curtesy and respond in the same accent and take his arm. He leads me out of our room and towards the dining room. At the same time, we both let our arms fall to our own sides. We arrive to breakfast with 10 seconds to spare.
"Finally! Why are you guys always last to come to the table?" Edmund asks, annoyed as always.
"Why does it bother you? It's not hurting you." Peter retorts. Edmund just glares at us.
