"Peter!" The young king stopped and grimaced, hearing his sister calling him. "What in the name of Aslan did you do to Edmund?"

"What are you talking about, Susan?" Peter asked haggardly.

"You tell me that you're going be hunting all morning, so I decide to give some of the guests a tour of the castle," Susan explained. "When Edmund bursts in, doesn't say a word, just storms up to his room and slams the door."

"Well did you ask him what's wrong?" Peter questioned.

"No I did not ask him what's wrong! You broke it, now you are going to go fix it!" Susan ordered. "And why are you wet?"

"I went for a swim," Peter answered simply.

"A swim!" Exclaimed Susan feverishly. "For goodness sakes Peter—"

"I'll talk to Ed," Peter agreed speedily, before heading off up the grand stairwell.

He came to the younger boy's door and knocked lightly. There was no answer, so he pushed the door open slowly. Edmund was lying on his bed, staring into space, upon noticing his brother in the room; he promptly rolled over, burying his face in a satin shroud pillow.

"Ed," Peter rebuked gently, approaching the younger boy's bed. Edmund responding by grabbing another pillow, to cover his head with. "Edmund…You're being unreasonable."

"And you're being selfish Peter," Edmund returned angrily. "It was supposed to our day out, just you and me, and you had to go and invite that conniving Jezebel."

"Edmund that's not fair."

"No! You're not fair Peter," Edmund insisted. "All you do is criticize me…and I'm sick and tired of it!" Peter sighed heavily as Edmund buried himself deeper under the covers of his bed.

"I know I'm hard on you," Peter admitted softly. "And I know it doesn't seem right, but you've got to understand, you're my second in command. I have to ask a lot of you. Because if anything should happen to me, Ed, you'd be the one who'd have to take care of Susan and Lucy. You know that—don't you? They couldn't defend Cair Paravel without you."

"But nothings going to happen to you," Edmund began solemnly. "Will it Peter?"

"I hope not," Peter answered lightly. "Come on, let's do something fun, just the two of us. How about a nice, friendly sparing match?"

"You don't really expect me to fall for that do you, Peter," Edmund started up. "I know better than to expect you to be friendly with a sword in hand." Peter laughed.

"That's enough talk," he instructed, pulling his brother up. "Let's go."

The two fought vigorously out on the lawn, quite evenly pitted against one another. Many diplomats could not help but take passing glances as the clash of metal on metal echoed through the court yard.

As the fight progressed, the two ended up rolling in the grass like lion cubs at play. Peter laughed as Edmund finally managed to pin him to the ground, and after a quick moment to gather his breath he managed to roll him off onto the grass. They laughed together, still partially entwined.

"I love you, Ed," Peter announced finally between his soft pants of breath. "And I could never say that enough."

"I know," replied Edmund. "I love you too, Peter, even if you can be a royal pain sometimes." Peter laughed whole heartedly, before turning over to tickle his younger brother, and the game went on.

***

That night, the dinner-time entertainment was much more conservative—a middle-aged woman with an operatic voice sang an emotional soliloquy. Peter searched long and hard for the familiar cherubic face and a tangled mess of copper-tinged dark hair. He became so distracted that he didn't even know how much time had gone by until he noticed Lucy had once again gone missing.

"Have you seen Lucy," he asked, leaning over to Edmund. The younger monarch shook his head. Peter hurried to find the older of his two sisters.

"Susan, have you seen Lucy?" He inquired, catching her attention with a hand on her arm. Susan sighed.

"Peter not again," she groaned. "You'd better go find her before she gets herself into trouble." Peter nodded.

He hurried to Lucy's room, to find she wasn't there. He had to stop and think to himself: 'If I were Lucy...and I was bored out of my mind, where would I go?' And then it came to him, and he started off in the direction of the servant's quarters.

He came into the small hall where many of the servants were having dinner, to find it overflowing with music and motion. Zoya was not hard to find...dancing on the table top, stopping her feet and swishing her skirts in time with the music. He looked, and there was Lucy, standing besides the table, gazing on intently with starry eyes.

"Lucy," he began inconspicuously coming up behind her.

"Oh, Peter," Lucy began. "I'm so glad you're here...we've been having so much fun."

"We should get back to the dinner now Lucy," he instructed gently. Taking her arm to pull her along.

"Oh why, Peter?" Lucy protested. "We're all having such a good time...this is a party. Can't we stay, Peter?"

"Yea, Peter, can't we stay?" Zoya reiterated flamboyantly, throwing herself down by the edge of the table top, and stuck her bottom lip out at him pitifully. Peter rolled his eyes at her childish behavior.

"Cute," he observed.

"Come now, High King," Zoya teased him lightly. "Come in and stay a while, have some wine, dance with a pretty girl." Peter scoffed lightly.

"Like you," he ribbed her right back with surprising ease. Zoya shrugged, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Who knows?" She offered easily. Peter sighed humorously. "Just stay for some wine," Zoya suggested. "After all, it is yours...." Peter laughed as she motioned to one of the young men to toss over a mason jar filled with dark purple liquor. She caught it to her chest with two hands and popped the lid off, handing the jar over to him.

"Susan is going to murder me," Peter decided, taking a long drink from the jar. Zoya applauded him teasingly.

"Then it is a good thing that Susan is not here," she announced with a wink. "C'mon, let's dance."

Zoya pulled him up onto the table and loosened his collar for him as the musicians played their pipes and fiddles. Several couples arranged themselves, and curtsies and bows were exchanged. They twirled and spun, exchanging partners, moving in a flowing pattern amongst each other. They all drank, and laughed, and fell on each others' necks jovially.

Lucy watched with a smile as her brother twirled Zoya and spun her into him. They would stop occasionally to see that she was enjoying herself as they danced the night away.

"Peter," Zoya urged the slightly reeling monarch. "Peter, let's go take a walk…cool down." The young king giggled uncontrollably as they started down the hallway.

"Now that was a party," he announced. Zoya laughed, placing a hand on his back.

"I'm very glad you enjoyed it," she offered. "I was quite afraid it wouldn't measure up to one of your grand balls."

"Oh, it was so much better…no forced smiles, or stodgy conversation. Will you come to my party tomorrow…" He suggested warmly, words slightly slurred.

"I would be glad to dance at your party tomorrow," she replied.

"No…not as entertainment…as my guest," Peter corrected. "I think I'd like the company, and so would Lucy."

"Your Highness—Peter—I couldn't possibly attend your ball…" Zoya protested. "I have no gown to wear."

"Then I'll have one made for you," he answered, taking her wrist and pulling her down the hall before stopping outside one of the servants' rooms and knocking on the door. A moment later a middle aged woman in a nightdress opened the door, looking very confused.

"Your Highness," she began awkwardly. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Why yes, Glenys, if you would…" Peter answered, smiling warmly. "I'd like you to make this young woman here a fine ball gown for the ball tomorrow evening." The older woman blinked.

"Now?" She questioned. "Sire, it's well past midnight." Peter's look turned pensive.

"I suppose that won't do then," he reasoned.

"First thing tomorrow, then," Glenys suggested. "In my studio."

"Why yes, I do believe that would work," he offered. "As long as it's alright with you Zoya."

"It sounds perfect," she replied. "Thank you."

"Now you have something to wear," Peter informed her as Glenys returned to her beauty sleep.

"Peter, you know, I doubt Queen Susan would be entirely pleased with this surprise," Zoya reminded him.

"Susan's warming up to you," Peter insisted. "You must realize she likes things to be prim and proper and refined, and you're, well, not…"

"You don't thing I'm refined?" Zoya questioned accusingly. Peter shrugged innocently.

"Well no," he answered. "You're more fun…and free." Zoya frowned teasingly.

"Just you wait, Peter," she challenged. "When you see me at that party tomorrow, I will be the most refined creature you ever laid eyes on." Peter smiled.

"Then I look forward to it," he answered with an impish smile.

"Thank you once again, Peter." Zoya offered finally. "Good night, sweet dreams."

"Sweet dreams," he repeated, watching as she made her way back to her dorm.