[ONGOING]
[THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA:
PRINCE CASPIAN ➵ THE LAST BATTLE]
[EDMUND PEVENSIE × FEM!OC]
[HIGHEST RANKINGS:
#548 IN 'FANFICTION' OUT OF 116K STORIES
#164 IN 'FANTASY' OUT OF 22.4K STORIES]
･°*✧•.
𝗜𝗡𝗖𝗜𝗣𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗧
- 𝘢𝘥𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦
Begi...
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13 | DON'T UNDERESTIMATE HIS DARKNESS
Let's set things straight:
One. He is a king.
Two. He is a protective brother.
Three. Due to factor two, he does not appreciate her proximity with his family, especially with his little sister.
Four. With reference to points one, two and three, he has sufficient reason to have reservations to escort her to the nearby lake so she can wash up.
Yet, that is exactly what he is doing.
All she asked from him was if there is a solution to her problem, like a source of water of sort, that she can harness to remove the caking soil. In fact, she insists that he not tag after her.
I mean, she hasn't been granted the luxury of a decent, thorough cleanse of the body ever since she arrived here. The mud isn't the only icky thing she wants off her skin. To scrub the dirt from her skin, rinse the sweat of her back and wash the clumping blood from her hair, she has to skinny dip.
Here she is, adjacent a lake, immersed in the cliche beauty of shining stars and crystal clear water, a king by her side.
Thoughts run in her head as she patches up something to say, "I, um-"
"Go on," presses King Edmund, "wash up so I can return without the bad conscience that I made you fall."
She steps from the edge of the water to his direction, eyeing him while he leans against a tree, staring her down in his impatient nature.
"I am deeply thankful for you to have kindly guided me here, your Majesty," she remarks, cringing at the forced formality, "But do return if you must, if I may suggest. I shall be all right alone."
"All right alone? Why, a maiden with no weaponry nor aptitude for defense is sure to make it through an attack by a beast," he chuckles in childlike satire. It isn't long fore his confident smirk falls soon as he recalls one key detail, "Pardon me for I forgot, you don't need a weapon."
She honestly can't deduce if the king is subtly being unkind to her or nay.
But nonetheless, she bears a smile in spite of the shadows, choosing to recall the look in his eyes when he apologised to her. He was sincere, she could tell. Perhaps, his talent in 'nice-ness' just falls far behind his skill in combat; he can't resist satire.
"I- well- choose not to believe that rinsing with clothing on shall be effective. Your Majesty, if you would-"
Edmund coughs.
"Apologies," he says before he spins away from her.
She lifts the hem of her blouse whilist ambling back to the lake, very nearly pulling the fabric over her chest before-
