back, again | prince capian

ten

"Let's set off; they've advanced further while I've been speaking," I declared, my voice firm as I marched toward Peter and Edmund.

The two gentlemen exchanged knowing glances, their expressions shifting from serious to playful in an instant.

"Wow, I had no idea you two had already leveled up," Peter quipped, a self-satisfied grin playing on his lips, which only aggravated my annoyance further.

"What do you mean?" I asked, brow furrowing at his inference. However, upon catching Peter's cheeky smirk, realization struck me. My cheeks heated as I recalled Caspian's hands resting on my shoulders moments ago.

Caspian noticed the shift in my demeanor and quickly withdrew his hands, but Peter and Edmund remained undeterred, their smirks only intensifying.

"Come on, Edmund; we don't have all day for this nonsense," I insisted, my irritation bubbling just beneath the surface, desperate to push onward.

"Now, now," Edmund interjected, adopting an annoyingly sassy tone. I shot him a fierce glare, which caused him to look away, though a smile lingered on his face.

"As I was saying, we're ready to depart," Peter stated, attempting to inject some semblance of authority into the moment.

Edmund seized the opportunity to spend the remainder of our journey to the encampment teasing me about my earlier embarrassment. I fought to keep my composure, knowing any reaction from me would only provoke his relentless teasing further.

When we finally arrived, we were met by soldiers, their expressions taut and guarded, eyes flickering toward us with an apprehensive intensity. One of the soldiers led us through the maze of tents until we approached the central one where the formidable Miraz awaited.

Inside, lords clustered around Miraz, their demeanor a mixture of unease and calculated caution. He regarded us with an expression that oozed contempt, as if we were mere bait laid out for a trap.

"I, Peter, by the grace of Aslan, by election and conquest High King of Narnia, Lord of Cair Paravel, and Emperor of the Lone Islands," Edmund proclaimed with unwavering authority, clutching a note he had prepared, "in order to prevent the abhorrent spill of blood, do hereby challenge the usurper Miraz to single combat upon the field of battle. The fight shall be to the death, and the prize shall be total surrender."

I stood ten paces behind Edmund, who had insisted I stay toward the back for my "safety," citing my reckless tendencies as a liability.

"Tell me, Prince Edmund—" Miraz began, drawing himself up with a palpable sense of superiority.

"It's King," Edmund interrupted smoothly, his gaze steely.

I inhaled sharply, stifling a laugh that threatened to bubble over. The sheer absurdity of the situation had me mentally facepalming as I watched this clash of egos unfold.

"Pardon me?" Miraz asked, incredulity dripping from his words.

"It's King Edmund, actually," Edmund said, his tone a tantalizing blend of innocence and mockery.

"Just 'King' though. Peter's the High King." With an air of casual nonchalance, he added, "I know it can be confusing."

Resisting the urge to smile, I focused on Miraz, whose irritation was evident as he struggled to regain his composure.

"Why would we risk such a proposal when our armies could obliterate you by nightfall?" he sneered, his hubris radiating like the heat from a forge.

'What a buffoon,' my thoughts mocked silently, yet I restrained myself; rumors of Miraz's storied temper suggested any provocation could unleash chaos.