"I'm so sorry, Your Highness. The princess was told to be here at noon, I truly have no earthly idea where she is." The servant speaking wrings his hands anxiously and Peter smiles to put him at ease.
The people of Cador are kind, happy to please and proud of their hospitality. He is there to meet their Princess, Mirielle, upon the insistence of his Chief Advisor. In his words "No one needs know you do not intend to marry the lady because no one would believe you would want to!" Mirielle has a reputation for repelling suitors like the sun of her lands repel the weak.
"Do not worry yourself. If the lady forgot the time, it is certainly no fault of yours." Hoofbeats echo, coming towards the courtyard and both men turn.
Peter expects a regal horse with a great lady seated atop in a luxurious saddle but sees quite the opposite. The horse is mottled brown and white, the kind horsemasters give to servants to run errands. The lady is also a surprise.
Every princess he has been sent to court has been slender and delicately beautiful, with perfect manners and not much beyond the surface. The woman who jumps down from the horse is built powerfully with strong arms evidenced by the roughly hewn tunic baring them. Peter is astonished; he hasn't seen a woman in men's clothing since he left England but Mirielle is also in trousers.
He examines her as she strokes her horse's mane, thinking that she could be mistaken for a man easily but is corrected of that notion when she turns to him. Her eyes are so deep brown as to be black framed by dark brows low with suspicion and her mouth is pure female, pink and full. Mirielle's gaze is piercing and her hair as brown and shaggy as her horse's mane, falling to her shoulders and sticking out in several directions from what must have been a brisk ride.
"Hello." She says curtly as she walks past both, her horse following with no prompting. The servant, flabbergasted, waves his arms frantically as he follows, and Peter trails behind him, curious and slightly miffed at being taken so lightly. After all, the red lion on his chest is known across the lands as the symbol of Narnia.
"Milady! This is High King Peter of Narnia, whom your father told you to entertain this afternoon." Mirielle turns, her tone wry though her expression is stern.
"Jan, I will tell you again. He is not my father, I do not take orders from him, and I have no desire to be married off to breed sons like a horse. And of horses, mine comes before some prince who is probably currently debating whether or not I am worth the effort." Mirielle turns her gaze to Peter, her expression mischievous.
"The answer is no. There is a reason I don't wear ladies clothing; it is for ladies!" She turns away before he can answer, leading her horse to the stables in the distance. Jan turns to Peter, face wan with dismay.
"My lord, I am so sorry for the lady's behavior. She refuses to grow up, or recognize her station in life. She is common born, and I am ashamed to say it shows." Peter smiles broadly, surprising the flustered servant and brushes past him to follow Mirielle.
"Don't be. My lady!" He calls, coming up beside her. Mirielle doesn't look at him and keeps walking.
"Mirielle, though you'll probably insist on the formalities anyway, just like all the other stuffy royalty." They come up to the stables and Mirielle's horse goes into a stall of his own accord, and she sets about brushing her, granting Peter a curious glance when he says
"Then I am Peter, Mirielle."
"Very well, Peter. You seem kind enough, so I'll be as honest with you as I am with all the others; I do not want to be married, and therefore I will not be married. You would do well to leave now and save yourself the trouble." Peter smiles and leans against the stable door.
"And I shall be honest with you in return; I do not court for desire to marry, but to please my advisors." Mirielle surprises him by throwing her head back and laughing, loud and long and not at all properly.
"Peter, methinks that entertaining you will not be so dull as any of the others." Her expression softens and her posture relaxes and a passer-by might think they were old friends. She spreads a hand, smiling as though she hasn't done so in years. "What do you do for entertainment?"
"I am partial to swordplay and archery, but surely milady would rather…" Mirielle interrupts with a snort and Peter is taken aback.
"Rather what? Embroider? Come, prince, let us draw steel and see how Narnia measures against Cador." She declares, eyes twinkling with challenge. Bewildered at her manner, Peter can do nothing but follow as Mirielle leads him to an armory, selecting two short blades from the wall and backing into the arena.
"Mirielle, I do not wish to harm you." Peter says, hesitantly pulling his sword free of its sheath. She smiles with mischief, taking a fighting stance and playfully taunting him.
"Oh, come now, prince! Surely you are confident to cross blades with a common-born woman!" She circles him, and they test each other with glancing blows while carrying on a conversation.
"Common-born?" Their blades crash together when she makes a quick attack then skips backwards, grinning like a predator.
"Yes. I am the daughter of one of the illustrious King Haer's chamber attendants. He claimed me only when it became clear that his wife was not going to father him an heir any time soon." Peter tests her defenses with a feint and thrust, but Mirielle easily turns it away.
"Interesting." He longs to say the truth, that he is not royal-born but just a boy from England who followed his little sister into a closet.
"So, Peter, why do you not wish to marry? Most princes cannot wait to find a wife he can be proud to display."
"There is an inordinate amount of pressure on me to wed and produce an heir but I simply feel no pressing need to find a bride. Honestly, it bores me to tears, traveling from land to land and having various noblewomen throw themselves at me." Mirielle laughs, and the two engage in a flurry of strikes, then separate again.
"I suppose I am lucky in that sense. Most royalty who visit are so appalled at my behavior and appearance that they quickly make excuses and leave." Another series of strikes; the two are very evenly matched.
"It is true that you are very different than other ladies whose company I have been forced to endure but in a most refreshing way." Mirielle and Peter are both breathing heavily and Peter surprises her by kneeling and sheathing his sword.
"May I also add that your swordsmanship is most impressive. I do not believe if this bout draws on that I will emerge victorious." She nods and extends a hand, pulling Peter to his feet.
"You may. Come, surely you have worked up an appetite between this and your travels."
"Thank you. You are most kind."
After a meal snatched from the kitchens and shared on the battlement walls, the sun begins to fall and Peter sighs and stands.
"I'm afraid I've overstayed my welcome. I intended to start back hours ago but I could not bear to end our time. I feel as though we have been hunting companions or the like for years." Mirielle smiles at that, scuffing a boot on the brick of the walls.
"You're the first to stay so long. I could find you quarters and clothing if you truly wish to stay though I'll understand if you decline." Gone is the bold Mirielle from before, replaced by a shy, more timid form.
"Why on earth do you think I would decline another day spent in your company?" Peter asks in surprise.
"For the same reason all others leave; I am no great lady, not beautiful or slender or graceful, nothing to be expected of a queen." The challenge returns to her dark eyes as she declares "And nor will I change myself for anyone, save Aslan himself!"
Peter chuckles at her fire but sobers to reply.
"You are a strong, capable, more honest than any lady I've encountered and more beautiful." Mirielle's brows pull together in skepticism.
"You were doing quite well to the end." He takes both of her hands in his, noting the calluses and smiling softly.
"A lady who can cross swords with such skill, defy a kings will and smile with such mischief is more beautiful then the daintiest of royalty." Mirielle meets his gaze, her tan cheeks dusted with pink and her equally colored lips parted in surprise when he asks "Will you come to Narnia with me? If you say yes, it does not mean you are obligated to marry me but I would like to share my country with you. Also, I am sure my siblings will enjoy your company as much as I have."
"You are serious?" She asks in disbelief after a moment and Peter chuckles.
"Utterly."
"You are considering marrying me?" Mirielle asks quietly, tears shimmering in her midnight eyes and Peter uses her hands to draw her close.
"If you will consent, I would be proud to make you my queen though there is one thing you must know." His confidence fades for a moment and Mirielle waits patiently till he musters the courage to go on. "Aslan brought me and my family here and I do not know if or when he means to take us back." Peter searches her for recoil or hesitation but she merely absorbs what he's said.
"Well, we should not make waste of what time we have. I will go with you." Grateful beyond words, Peter brings one of her hands up and kisses it, hoping his eyes can convey what he cannot say and she smiles. "Wherever."