𝐒𝐡𝐞 - A Narnian Prophecy || Peter Pevensie

Chapter 15 ~ 'A dance?'

Lilith was not entirely sure what to do. Susan had still been sorting Lucy's hair when she'd been encouraged to go and see the Hall before the countless guests filled it, but she was too late. Lilith had entered the Ball alone and completely lost, and had almost swooned from relief (and she certainly wasn't the swooning type) as Tumnus had spotted her.

They had talked for a short while before Lucy had appeared and insisted on starting everyone dancing.

Lilith had politely declined as she internally 'nope-d' harder than she ever had, but Tumnus had accepted the Queen's invitation quite merrily. This had left the Lilith to wander until she eventually found sanctuary at what seemed to be a punch bowl, where she stood, watching those who had chosen to dance.

Cair Paravel never ceased to amaze Lilith. It turned out that the Pevensies had had a choice as to where they'd hold the Ball- the Throne Room or the Ballroom. Susan had explained as they had got ready how they saved Balls in the Throne Room for more formal dances of greater importance.

Still, Lilith often found herself speechless at the grandeur of both the Throne Room and Ballroom on a day to day basis, never mind when one was as decorated as it was at that moment. It was not the room itself that held the most beauty, however, but what she saw within it.

Nobles of all kinds, from all neighbouring provinces had, as one might say, 'let their hair down'. Ladies were twirled in billowing gowns, men holding them, even as they spun, in decorous gazes. Those of the Fauns who were not Palace Guards danced gaily at the far side of the room with a handful of Satrys and other Forest inhabitants, their Valiant Queen among them, seemingly having the time of her life without a single drop of wine having passed her lips. Lucy's longing for Thirsa's company on such a night went undisclosed.

Around Lilith stood the Nobles, most looking as if they saw themselves as above partaking in any sort of merriment. She listened indiscreetly to the droning political talk that cruised below the tide of music before deciding the words became too blotched to her punch-soaked brain and siphoned it out, wandering to stand a little nearer the string-heavy but lively band.

Her solitude was bought to an end quite abruptly- but in the most pleasing way- however, as a hand brushed her loosely curled hair aside from behind, just before featherlight lips graced the crook of her neck. Her shiver was involuntary, but it left her with a feeling she hoped would linger.

"You look like an Angel."

"Peter." Lilith turned to face him with a timid smile, "How many others have you greeted like that tonight?"

"I'm sorry." The High King told her, sheepish. His impulsiveness would be the end of him someday, he just knew it- perhaps it had been the plentiful amount of wine he and Edmund had already 'sampled' that was to blame.

"No." Lilith replied, perhaps a little too quickly. "No," She repeated, shaking the blurred thoughts in her head clear again, "Don't be sorry. And thank you, you don't look too terrible yourself."

Albeit his external Kingly façade strongly intact, his internal teenage thoughts were currently putting up a stubborn battle as he almost had to persuade himself that he actually was a dress fanatic and hence the discipline it took to look her in the eyes. "Thank you. I see you've found the wine?"

"The drinks table- one of the only party aspects that's familiar."

"You mean to say that you tended not to frequent Balls in 2019 York?" The High King joked as he poured two goblets of the crimson liquid and handed one to her.

"I can't say I did. They're definitely not like the parties I'm used to-"

"Then to your first Ball." Peter proposed, holding his goblet up to her.