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

Chapter 21 | Peter

Sitting on the soft grass beside her, I watch the smallest changes in her expression. I watch the sunlight glint off her bracelets, and when she smiles, it's like the sun shines a little brighter. I should be focused on Edmund, I should be a tightly wound bundle of nerves with how long Aslan and the witch have been squirreled away in the lion's tent, but I'm not. How can I be when her eyes meet mine, and the world seems to blur and fade?

She turns to say something to Lucy, and for a second, her expression falters as her back twists, pulling at the freshly closed wounds. My stomach twists, and blinding red slashes across my vision. The witch did that to her.

The witch kidnapped my brother, sent her wolves to hunt us, and now bargains with Aslan over her right to end Edmund's life. But the worst thought is Cress against a whipping post, bloody and bruised. The thought makes me sick.

Do you think she'd mind if I call her Cress?

I shake the thought from my head. She's a lady, not a sibling or a school friend.

Just as I pull out stalks of grass, finding something to occupy my hands, the heavy flaps of Aslan's tent fly open. The witch glares at us before slowly walking towards her throne, pausing to stare down Edmund.

"She has renounced her claim on the son of Adam's blood," Aslan announces.

The roar of many cheers from the Narnians around us fills my ears, and Lucy throws her arm around Edmund.

He looks nearly green and sways on his feet with relief. I expect the witch to leave, but she doesn't; she has something else up her sleeve.

"Now for our other matter Aslan."

An odd hush falls over the crowd; even Jadis' own men look perplexed. She slides her frigid gaze back to Edmund, no, not Ed, Cressida is standing behind him.

"You have something of mine." She smirks.

Suddenly, the air feels cold, an icy wind racing past me. Then, the worst sound I've ever heard, one I pray I'll never hear again.

Cressida screams, her knees buckling beneath her as she slams into the ground, her neck whips violently as she hits the grass.

"Cressida!" I roar, launching myself towards her.

She's writhing like she is possessed as I try to support her head; her skin is cold as ice.

"Stop it!" Lucy screams. "Please!"

"You have no claim on her witch." Aslan growls, "Release the girl!"

"She is my prisoner by right of conquest; you think I'd so easily let a princess slip from my grasp." The witch sneers.

I'm so rageful that I barely register the word, princess. That's what Cressida was keeping from us.

"She was liberated according to the old laws, I have liberated her with intent to return her to her people and status, now release her."

"Fine, bring her to me."

"Are you mad?" I spit at the witch.

"The only way for the magic to be broken is for her to drink a drop of my blood, so bring her to me, little king, or watch her die."

I freeze as Cressida grows limp in my arms, icicles crackling in her hair. My stomach drops; she's dying.

"I'd say she has a few minutes left, little king."

I stare daggers at the witch before scooping Cressida into my arms and carrying her to the witch. She feels so fragile, her head tipped back, eyes closed and nearly frosted shut. The witch draws a crystal blade, and my heart skitters; for all I know, she'll run us both through.

Yet, she's true to her word. Pricking her index finger with the fine tip of the blade, crimson blood wells to the surface. Who knew the witch bled just like a human. With a long-fingered hand, the witch grips Cressida's chin, striking out like a viper. I almost pull her away out of shock, but the witch forces Cressida's mouth open, and a single drop of blood falls.

Cressida gasps, the sound choked and strangled, her muscles suddenly tensing. She wraps her arms tightly around my neck.

"Why did you do that to her?" I muster up the courage to ask quietly, "You must have known what Aslan would say."

"I did it," she sneers, "because I could."

The witch still has one hand on Cressida's face and the other firmly wrapped around the hilt of her dagger; I dare not move.

"You're free for now, little princess, but not to worry you'll be back where you belong very soon." The witch whispers. "And you, little king, there won't be enough left of you to burn, let alone bury when I'm through."

The witch flicks her hand away, and I stumble backwards, carrying Cressida with me.

Reaching my sibling's side, Cressida swings her legs down to the ground, but I keep an arm firmly around her waist as she leans most of her weight on me.

The witch turns back to Aslan, "How will I know your promise will be kept?"

The lion roars at her, a ferocious sound that sends a chill down my spine. The witch sits back on her throne in shock, and the Narnians erupt into laughter.

My jaw, however, is set. I don't know if I'll ever laugh again.