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

Chapter 22

A dryad examines me, listening to my heartbeat, checking my eyes and my throat, feeling along my neck and spine for any damage from when I hit the ground. Not that I remember going down.

Peter's pacing at the entrance to the tent, wearing a hole through the dirt floor. I roll my eyes subtly before rolling out my shoulders. My head throbs, and a few of the cuts on my back popped open. The dryad stitched and redressed those before looking at the rest of me.

I can hear Peter muttering under his breath, and he's beginning to do my head in.

"You're fusing." I sigh as the dryad lifts both arms above my head, feeling the glands beneath for swelling.

"I'm not fusing." He gripes back, never ceasing his pacing.

"You're fussing more than any nursemaid I've ever had." I chuckle, followed quickly by a wince as the motion of lowering my arms pulls at the raw skin of my back.

"I have every right to fuss."

"I thought you said you weren't fussing?" I smirk.

Peter pauses his footsteps to stare daggers at me. I raise both hands in surrender before turning to the dryad,

"Is everything in order? I think the prince wishes to scold me for my insolence in private." I drawl.

"Don't do that." Peter snaps at me. "I'm the only one reacting appropriately right now."

"Yes, my la-uh, I mean, your highness." The dryad stutters, dipping into a deep curtsy.

I cringe at the title; I haven't been a princess for a very long time, and I wasn't expecting to step back in so soon, not today, at least. The dryad curtsies to Peter before hurrying from the tent.

"I'm fine." I insist, slipping my gaze to Peter.

"So you say." His eyes are dark, and his posture is stiff.

"Yes, so I say because it's the truth."

"Forgive me if I'm not so quick to believe you could possibly be perfectly fine after what I just saw."

"Peter, worrying like this won't make it any better; you're being ridiculous."

"No, what's ridiculous is you telling me how I should feel." Peter says, his voice rising, anger boiling close to the surface.

"That's not what I'm doing." I bite back, pushing off the table to my feet. "I'm the one who almost died, all right. You need to calm down."

"Yes, you almost died," Peter shouts, closing the gap between us in two long strides, "and I'm the one who held you. I'm the one who felt your skin turn to ice!"

"I'm fine, nothing happened!"

"But it almost did, don't you get it?" Peter demands, "I almost lost you. I've known you less than three days, and the thought of you dead turns my stomach worse than anything else, worse than the idea of my sibling's death, or my own!"

I take a small stumbling step backwards, "You don't mean that."

"Of course I do." He thunders, "I look at you, and nothing else matters; the idea of you hurt fuels a rage I've never felt before, and I have no idea why."

"Well, I don't know either, Peter; I don't have all the answers."

"I just want these feelings to go away. I don't understand them." He's no longer shouting, but he's frustrated.

He wants the feelings gone. He doesn't want me.

"Why, why are you so desperate to be rid of them?"

"So I can focus, so every minute I'm on that battlefield tomorrow, I'm not thinking of you."

"I'm sorry to be such an unwanted distraction to you, Your Majesty." I sneer.

"You don't understand, you're a distraction of want Cressida. I want you. I want to be close to you, to be with you so desperately it's driving me mad."

"And what do you expect me to do about that." I breathe, hardly able to move.

"Tell me you don't feel the same, and then I can forget all this."

"I can't tell you that, Peter, I won't," I whisper.

"Why?" He asks, his voice low and rough, his chest rising and falling in deep, almost laboured breaths.

He's so close to me now that I could reach out so easily to place a hand against his chest, to feel the thrumming pulse of his heartbeat.

"I don't make it a habit of telling lies to people I care about. I couldn't lie to you." I say softly, slowly, as though the very words are dangerous.

To speak them is to admit to a secret I intended to keep to myself. Two in one day, not how I expected this all to happen.

Peter places his hand softly around the back of my neck, slipping beneath my hair. His forehead rests against mine, and his eyelids flutter closed. How odd to find mine doing the same. I breathe through my nose, and I can smell him, the scent of new leather and fresh grass.

"What is this between us?" He asks, I can sense that his eyes are still closed and I have no thought to open mine.

"I don't know, but now I have it, I can't let it go." I sigh, feeling grounded by the pressure of his hand against my skin.

I feel him shift; suddenly, both hands cup my face lightly, and his lips press against my own.

It's a small kiss, light and warm, but it sets my soul on fire. I reach out and grasp his wrists, letting the feeling of his lips against mine consume me. I hear him suck in a sharp breath through his nose, and I nearly lose my footing, my knees still weak from earlier.

Sure, that's why.

Peter pulls away first, still holding my face, just staring at me.

"I'm sorry." He whispers.

"Why?" I ask, stomach dropping.

"That was all kinds of improper." He says, stroking a thumb against my cheek.

"I'm not sorry." I'm still holding his wrists, refusing to let him go.

"I wish we had more time."

"Succeed tomorrow, and we'll have all the time in the world."

"There's no way I can convince you not to fight tomorrow, is there?" He asks, tucking my hair behind my ear.

His tone tells me he already knows the answer, "No, there's no chance you could keep me away."

"If you get hurt..."

"I won't." I insist.

"But if you do, I'll hunt down the unfortunate creature that lay a hand on you. That's a promise."

"I don't doubt that." I breathe.

He hesitates for a moment, just looking at me. His chest falls are more even now, slow and controlled. But perhaps his heart is racing, just like mine. Everything else falls away and I could stay in this moment forever. I can feel my magic straining to be set loose, energy coiled tightly in the pit of my stomach. I almost let it, but then Peter speaks. The world seems to spin and snap back into harsh focus.

"Come on, you need to eat something, you'll need your strength tomorrow." He sighs, releasing my face to hold my hand.

Suddenly my skin feels cold, mourning for losing his touch, but I let him lead me outside. The sun is nearly blinding, but nothing could be brighter than the spark crackling in my heart.