Narnia Preferences and Imagines

○Peter~ VII○

(I hate this😃 but it's here anyway. Hate it, might delete later)

Secretary of State

"Go away," a deep voice grumbled in your ear, clearly directing it at the person frantically knocking on the old wooden door separating the High King and his girl's cherished time together from everything out there.

At the brief intermission between knocks, he lets out a breath, using his free hand to roll your hips back and settle you against his firm chest in an effort to fall asleep again. He groans when the knocking begins again, tightening his grip on your waist with impatience to be alone. The time you'd gotten before falling asleep wasn't nearly enough. He wants, craves, and, therefore, needs more time to soak up your presence.

"It's alright, Peter," you mumble during the next silence. "If they're knocking this much there's probably an emergency and you should take care of it."

"But-" he starts, burying his head in the crook of your next as the knocking begins again. This time slightly softer as the knuckles of the person behind the door must be bruising.

"Go on, I'll be here when you get back," you encourage, brushing a hand through his blonde locks. Fully aware he won't try to make them presentable before he leaves - and they most definitely are not presentable.

"Can I get a kiss before I go?" He asks, weakly, still holding tightly to your frame that fits so perfectly against his.

"Absolutely," a short lip lock later (that the King tried to prolong by chasing your lips when you pulled away) and he was gone from the room. A certain regal air following a few steps behind.

This was the second time this week and it had only just begun. It seemed to be happening more and more these days. Peter would go to bed after you, rise before you, and you'd be utterly alone. He'd place his family and his kingdom before your needs, but you found yourself unable to complain about that without feeling selfish.

He'd often express how overwhelmed he would feel with all those people wanting his attention. And how grateful he is that you would make him feel like he's enough. Even if sometimes he's not there for it all.

But you've found, by and by, that you're becoming dissatisfied. That suddenly that second fiddle business Edmund is always talking about doesn't seem so far fetched. You want his attention all for yourself. You want to walk up and for everyone else to leave, offended by his blatant disregard for them. You want him to become so entangled with you he doesn't even hear the knocking or the nagging. But that wish is starting to tear you apart because you know it won't come to fruition. The selfless person everyone thinks you are isn't true at all.

Thus, you roll back over and try to bury those feelings further beneath the bedding. Peter is doing his best, but there's always more that he could do. He's not very organized, so many a time he loads his plate up with tasks to accomplish but never completes them in an orderly fashion. He doesn't bide his time very well or take into account how helpful a simple schedule could be. It's a lot, you know that, and you've tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, but you're unable to help the nagging thoughts that...maybe he doesn't want to hang out with you?

This charade should have proved the opposite, but when you woke up in the morning, excited for Peter had promised you a picnic today, you were intercepted in the hallway by an almost smirking servant, explaining High King Peter regretfully had to decline. And that High King Peter would make it up to you later, after he does all the things he took a rain check on before this one.

As disappointed as one could possibly be, you make your way to the kitchen, informing the staff preparations for the picnic will no longer be needed.

You're feasting on a cake - made in anticipation for your picnic - all alone with your thoughts, interrupted only by the small patter of feet. You don't look up, half expecting to be ignored by them.

"Oh, dearie!" It's Mrs. Beaver. "What are you doing in here? All alone? Weren't you and-"

"He cancelled on me." You sigh before adding: "again."

"Oh, dearie," same sentence, now with pity instead of surprise. "You should tell him how you're feeling. You've gone absolutely miserable."

You swallow a forkful, shaking your head. "He doesn't have any time for me to tell him." You reply.

"He does have time for you," she gasps as if to ask how dare you make such an audacious claim. "Oh dearie, he looks for you. I've seen him before, asking where you are, wanting to see you and getting swept up in all his work."

"Really?" You ask, playing with the piece of cake you'd just forked.

"Really," she replies, giving you a hint of a smile. "Maids don't usually clean rooms that much. He's sending people to check on you." You realize - suddenly - that she's right. People are all the time cleaning your room or asking how you are. It was Peter's way of checking in on you the whole time. The only reason you hadn't gone to see him while he was working was because you made an assumption in your head. There's nothing stopping you from seeing him even though he can't come to you.

"Go to him. He will be delighted to see you." Her paw pushes the half made picnic basket toward you, inviting you to take it to him.

"Thank you." Mrs. Beaver only waves you off, watching as you take the picnic basket and leave, quickly heading for Peter's office. You knock softly on the door, met with an equally soft wish for you to enter. You slowly push the door open, finding Peter at his desk.

You realize - for a third time - how tired he looks. There are circles beneath his eyes, the sparkle is dull, his body is slumped with exhaustion. He finishes up what he's writing and then looks up at you, his hand gently rubbing those tired blue eyes. When he recognizes you, he gives you a tired smile.

"Hi,"

"Hi," you reply, stepping further into the room when he beckons for you to.

"This is a nice surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I made you an "I'm sorry" cake." Peter raises an eyebrow, taking a look at the cake with some bites taken out of it. "Well, actually I didn't make it. And I ate some of it feeling sorry for myself when I shouldn't have,"

"Y/n, I-"

"I'm sorry, Peter," you start. "I was jealous of not being your first priority, which I know is wrong. I blew it way out of proportion and instead of trying to make things better, I wallowed in self pity. But I'm here. I'm here to help you!"

Peter, who had only been able to blink as you gushed out words, smiles again. "I'm just glad you're here." He scoots his chair back, allowing you the space to sit down on his lap, placing the food basket on the floor. You pour him some tea, handing him his favorite from the basket before settling yourself in his lap.

"First things first, we make an organized to do list." Peter pouts.

"I don't have time. Too much work and not enough hours in the day." You smile at him.

"I bet you already have one in your head, you just need to write it out so you won't forget to do anything." Peter takes a sip of his tea, looking at you, deep in thought.

"Will you be my secretary?"

"I would love to be! But isn't there some sort of formal process for that?"

"No, just seal it with a kiss."