A Prison of Ice and Fear || Peter Pevensie x OC || Narnia

Chapter 18

I can see the makeshift training field for what it is, merely an extension of the huge battlefield where the Narnians will make their stand against Jadis. The field stretches out for miles at the bottom of the hill, and the rocky outcroppings make sections cliff-like.

Ideal for archers and launching aerial assaults, the spot had certainly been well chosen.

"Right, my Princes, that should be enough to get you started. Mount up and get in some practice." Oreius says with a nod of approval.

A dryad leads two steeds out from behind a rocky outcropping. One is a stunning white unicorn, its horn shimmering and glinting in the sunlight. The other is a stocky chestnut stallion, his glossy black mane the colour of ebony.

Peter takes the unicorn's reins and runs his hand along its strong neck. I wonder, if only for a moment, what those hands would feel like on my skin.

I look to Edmund, distracting myself from the thoughts I don't have time to unpack now. I expected that same hint of jealousy over the difference in steeds, but I see none. His eyes show admiration and perhaps a hint of nervousness as he looks at his horse.

The princes mount and ride off into the main field, and Oreius finally turns to me.

"I've heard tales that you have magical gifts, my lady. Is this true?"

"Yes, General, you are well informed." I slip easily back into my court voice, smooth and controlled.

"Well, those skills I cannot teach you. I trust you feel you could use them if necessary."

"Yes, general, I feel capable of that."

"And what of your weaponry knowledge? Any training in swordplay?"

"Under the witch's orders, any and all weapons were kept far from my reach. My swordsmanship is of a self-taught variety."

"I see, so you've never trained with a partner."

"My handmaiden is a dryad. She had some limited skills, but we trained when we could."

"How did you get your hands on swords?"

"I had help, I became quite proficient in recruiting discrete aid."

"Well, let's see what we're working with."

Oreius signals to another dryad. She is much more tree-like than Ephe, with patches of bark covering sections of her toffee-coloured skin. Cherry blossoms spread from her hairline, down the side of her face to her shoulder, disappearing beneath her gown. The flowers spread out through her long green hair as well, held by some force as though glued to the strands.

The Dryad takes a sword from the rack, pulling it from its sheath and casting aside the leather cover.

I cross to the rack and examine the array of different weapons. My gaze snags on a short hilted sword, its pommel a golden sphere set with a brilliant blue stone. Despite the sheath, I can tell the blade is long and slender, a traditional Narnian straight sword. I pull the blade free from its casing, and the sword sings.

Down the centre of the blade runs an inlay of gold. It's remarkably light, and the balance is near perfect in my hand.

The dryad sets her stance, sizing me up. I suck in a breath and grip the leather-bound handle of the blade tightly. The dryad swings her sword, and our blades crash, the force rippling through my arms.

I'm caught off guard momentarily, giving her another chance to swing. I keep my head enough to spin away from the arc of her sword before striking back with my own. Steel striking steel.

As we parry, I feel my body sink into a rhythm, matching the dryad strike for strike until I'm forcing her back towards the stone outcroppings jutting straight up.

I see her tyre, her movements becoming slow, and I take a chance.

In one moment, our swords clash high above our heads, and in the next, I twist her sword out of her hand. Slipping her own blade behind her neck, I pull my arm all the way back to aim my blade at her throat.

All is silent. I can hear my breath and my heart beating in my ears. The dryad heaves in laboured breaths and stares at the blade pointed at her throat. I feel myself snap back, and I lower my sword. Pulling hers out from behind her head, I offer it back to her. She takes it with a small smile, still breathing heavily.

"I dread to think what she'll become when she's had training from you, Oreius, and the witch should dread it too." The dryad laughs. "You fight well...for a naiad."

"How did you know?" I ask.

"Dryads are nymphs too, I can tell my own kind, even if our bloodlines did split in the early times."

"Can I ask a favour?"

"You may."

"Keep that between us."

"Are you ashamed of your heritage? Or do you not want a certain prince to know?"

"I forget how perceptive dryads are." I huff.

She mocks a bow with a smirk.

"I don't know how he'll react."

"Don't keep secrets for too long, they give you wrinkles." She whispers.

I look at her perplexed, and she laughs lowly.

"I'll keep your secret, now get back to Oreius before he gets antsy." The dryad waves before sauntering back towards the main camp.

I turn back to Oreius, who looks impatient, "How was that?"

"An excellent start. Now the real work begins."