I'm in Love With The King

Part Twelve: Our Sign of Love

Peter does not sleep. He tosses and lays facing the ceiling which disturbs me but I say nothing, because I am a good wife. With the tossing and turning he will also pull me close to him and play with my fingers or stroke my hair. So we are both sleep deprived. His appetite also suffers. Since the battle I have not seen more than a sip of wine or a small bite pass his lips. He spends many hours out on the balconies about the castle or the throne room, staring at the faint blood stain left. The maids and servants have spent many hours and much soap and cleaning supplies attempting to remove the last faint stain. They have done all but chisel the marble floor away.

Today I find him in the throne room, kneeling next to the blood. His hand brushes over the long thin trickle. I picture the blood still there, his fingers picking up the red fluid. I sit next to him and set my hand on his knee.

"I could have done so much. I could have saved him. I could have done-"

"Sh, Peter. You did all you could. Edmund did all he did for you. He died for you! You must understand that Peter. You must understand that you can't do anything now so you should not regret anything. Mourn that Edmund is gone but rejoice his heroism. Rejoice that he was an amazing king and how much he loved you and your sisters. He went out as a hero and he went out saving you, rejoice that," I tell him.

Peter turns to me and wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me into a tight hug. "How are you so strong Josephine?" he whispers.

"Because I have you," I respond.

He pulls back and looks into my eyes and presses his lips to mine gently. "I love you."

"I love you too," I smile.

I help his weakened body stand and we walk to the dining hall, a subtle attempt to maybe try and get him to eat something. I sit him in his seat at the head of the table and go into the kitchen and have a bowl of chicken broth made up for him. The maid sets the small bowl of hot broth in front of him and I sit beside him.

"I'm not hungry," he proclaims, sliding the bowl away from him.

"Please Peter, eat at least a little bit please?" I beg him, sliding the bowl closer to him.

"No, Josephine," he argues.

"Peter, you are acting like a 2 years old, I don't want to have to treat you like one," I tell him, picking up the spoon and twirling it in the broth.

"Please don't Josephine," he almost begs.

"I will hand feed you Peter if you don't eat by yourself. You're not 2 years old, you can eat by yourself," I tell him.

He looks at me, defeated, too tired to fight, and picks up the spoon and takes a small spoonful, swallowing it roughly.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it darling?" I say, petting the back of his head and kissing his cheek as he takes another spoonful.

"You give me an awful lot of tough love Josie," he smiles. His first smile in weeks. And my nickname, only spoken in times of endearment and love, now came back to his lips.

"Peter, you just smiled and called me Josie," I whisper.

"I did," he quietly realized.

"I'm so proud of you my love," I say, pressing my nose against his cheek as he continues to eat.

I sit back and twirl my wedding ring on my finger then take it off and twirl it on the table then stand it on end and try to spin it on the band. I feel eyes on me and I look up, Peter is watching me with a smile on his face that says "You are so cute" and he shakes his head.

"What?" I smile, blushing a little/

"You act so serious and caring and grownup, then when you get what you want you sit down and start spinning your ring on the table," he shakes his head, watching me with such a loving and adoring gaze. "I love you so much."

I set my elbow on the table and set my forehead on my hand and look over at him. He takes my other hand and pulls me out of my chair and sets me on his lap. I wrap my arms around his neck and he wraps his arms around my waist. I look into his blue eyes and his lips place themselves against mine.

"Peter," I whisper, setting my hand on his chest and tracing the stitching.

"Yes Josephine," he responds.

I take his hand and set it on my lower abdomen, my eyes never averting from his eyes. Peter looks down at his hand under mine. He looks back up at me, the idea of what I'm trying to tell him slowly crawls into his mind but not quite there. His eyes look at me, waiting for me to confirm the assumption he has made.

"I'm pregnant," I confirm.

His blue eyes light up, a smile forms on his lips and he lets out an excited breath. "Are-are you sure?!" he asks.

"I'm sure!" I nod.

"I'm going to be a father?!"

I nod and he stand up with me in his arms and spins in a circle and sets me down. His hand carefully slides around my womb and he looks down. My abdomen only slightly curves out further than usual under my dress, only visible when my dress smoothes out tight over.

"Is this supposed to take my mind off of Ed?" he asks with a small smile.

"Only if you want it to be," I tell him.

Peter pulls me closer and sets his forehead against mine and closes his eyes. "Aslan bless this child. Allow this child to become a great Narnian leader. Bless Josephine as she carries this baby," he whispers.

"Thank you Peter," I whisper, setting my hands against his chest.

"You have made me the happiest man in the world Josephine and now I am even happier," he says, coming to eye-level with me.

"You are amazing Peter," I smile, "No, you're magnificent."

He smiles and takes my hand and walks me out to our balcony, we watch the sun sink down and cast long, dark shadows on the land and paint the sky orange and pink and red and purple, leaving the other side of the sky a dark blue, turning darker. His arm slides around my waist and he kisses the side of my head and his other hand takes my hand.

"You're going to be a wonderful mother," Peter whispers.

"You will be a wonderful father," I say.

"Have you told anyone else yet?" he asks me.

"No, only you. I wanted you and I to be the only ones for at least a little while," I tell him.

I see him smile from the corner of my eye. "Thank you," he whispers.

A lot of whispers have been spoken these last few weeks, all from sadness, mourning, secrecy and now, after much time without it, intimacy.