back, again | prince caspian

ten

"Let's set off; they've advanced further while I've been speaking," I declared, my boots crunching against the gravel, the chill of early morning nipping at my cheeks as I marched toward Peter and Edmund.

The two exchanged a glance that flickered from serious to playful in an instant. A light breeze ruffled their hair, and I noticed Peter's cheeky grin catching the sunlight, making my own cheeks heat.

"Wow, I had no idea you two had already leveled up," Peter quipped, voice smooth, eyes sparkling with mischief. I fought to keep my lips from twitching in annoyance.

"What do you mean?" I asked, brow furrowing, suddenly aware of the warmth lingering on my shoulders, the memory of Caspian's hands making my heart beat faster.

He quickly withdrew his hands, casting me a tentative look, but Peter and Edmund's smirks only deepened. My irritation flared, the heat rising to my face.

"Come on, Edmund; we don't have all day for this nonsense," I insisted, stomping my foot against the cold stone, the echo carrying along the corridor.

"Now, now," Edmund said, adopting a mock-sophisticated tone that made me grit my teeth. I glared, and he looked away, though a teasing smile lingered on his lips.

"As I was saying, we're ready to depart," Peter chimed in, trying to restore authority, though the sunlight caught the tip of his sword and made it gleam threateningly.

Edmund spent the rest of our walk teasing me relentlessly, his words bouncing off the walls like pebbles in a stream. I forced my composure; a single laugh would be fuel for his amusement.

Finally, we arrived at the encampment. Soldiers stood rigidly, their armor clinking with every movement. Sunlight glinted off helmets, and the scent of smoke and dirt filled the air, mingling with the faint tang of horses. We followed one soldier through a maze of tents until we reached the central one. There, Miraz awaited, his presence looming like a dark cloud, and I felt the tension prickling up my spine.

Inside, lords clustered around him, murmurs of unease echoing faintly. Miraz's gaze swept over us, sharp and predatory, like a hawk sizing up prey.

"I, Peter, by the grace of Aslan, by election and conquest High King of Narnia..." Edmund's voice cut through the murmurs, steady and unwavering, carrying the weight of command. I watched the lords stiffen, and a subtle quiver betrayed their uncertainty.

I lingered ten paces behind Edmund, the folds of my dress brushing against my legs, the cool air of the tent prickling my skin. His insistence that I stay safe felt both protective and frustrating, but I didn't protest.

"Tell me, Prince Edmund—" Miraz began, his voice smooth, too measured, and dripping with superiority.

"It's King," Edmund interrupted, and I almost laughed at the sheer audacity, my pulse quickening.

"Pardon me?" Miraz asked, eyebrows rising.

"It's King Edmund, actually," he said, calm and deliberate.

"Just 'King,' though. Peter's the High King," I added lightly, letting my words float between the tension, and I could see the flush of irritation color Miraz's face.

"Why risk such a proposal when your armies could obliterate us by nightfall?" he sneered, voice low and dangerous, heat radiating off him.

'Hah, what a buffoon,' I thought, suppressing a grin. His temper was like dry tinder. One spark...

"Haven't you already underestimated our numbers? Just a week ago, Narnians were declared extinct," Edmund countered, and I saw a flicker of doubt in the corner of a lord's eye.