Iced water splashed all across Peter, startling him awake. The temperature took his breath away, making him gasp for air. Immediately, a chill wrapped around his body, and he began to shiver.

He uncomfortably noticed that he was blindfolded, and a cloth was tied between his teeth. He shifted and felt that his wrists were once again tied behind his back. He was also lying on his side on a cold surface, which he could only presume was ice.

Quickly, he did an assessment of his state as Oreius had taught him: his head hurt, his limbs felt weak and worn, and now, he was freezing. But he could still move. He could fight if he could get his hands free.

"The prisoner is awake."

Great, Peter thought to himself. He did not like the idea he could not see what was coming towards him or what anyone could do to him. He could not anticipate anything. He hated how stuck he was.

Without a warning, he felt hands grab a hold of him, forcing him into the air. He flailed his legs, trying to kick those he could not see or touch the ground with his feet. Neither he was successful at.

Instead, he was carried out of wherever he was being kept, despite his attempts at a protest. Hauled in the air until he was dropped once more, none too kindly. This time, when he landed, he felt like he was sitting on a chair.

From there, small hands cut away the rope holding his wrists together. Before he could do much more than pull his arms to his front, hands and claws latched themselves onto his wrists and slammed them down on the arms of the chair. He yelled in surprise, but all it came out as was a muffled mess.

He tried to retrieve his wrists. Before he was able to do anything further, he felt icy metal scorch his wrists, and with finality, a large clunk sealed the chains to them.

When the claws and hands released his arms and hands, the chains left a weight to his wrists. The claws were quick to chain his ankles to the legs of the chair as well, no matter his flailing attempts.

He tested his restraints, knowing well before he did that they would be too strong for him to break them. He would be lying if he did not admit that his breathing heightened and a shudder escaped him long before he could stop it.

"Have you ever been tortured before?" Jadis's voice reached his ears, making him jump. Despite hearing her voice, he could not locate where she ought to be in the room from the sound. There was a delight in her tone, as she concluded, "No? This is perfect then. I wanted to be the first."

Oh, Aslan, please help me.

The first thing he felt was claws ruffling around with the back of his head. He yelped at the touch, only to find that the claws had untied his blindfold, allowing him to see once more. Squinting from the sharp light contrast, Peter had to blink several times before he could see properly in front of him.

Peter counted nine creatures that loomed in the room. Some held knives and others carried hammers. He had to look away from them before he gave their intention too much thought.

This cannot be happening, he panicked. But as he saw the White Witch sitting comfortably on her throne, Peter knew it was all too real.

The pain still engulfed his hand, and his entire body felt drained. Whatever dark magic she used to come back had taken far too much energy out of him.

With a forceful yank, the satyr pulled the tied cloth out of Peter's mouth, allowing it to fall down to his neck.

Nevertheless, his focus was on Jadis. As much as he hated the situation he was in, he could not change it at the moment.

My family will notice I am missing, he reassured himself. They will come get me; I am certain. For now, he was absolutely certain of that. He just prayed he had the strength to endure until then.

Jadis held onto her stone knife in one hand, only briefly examining it before she started to speak: "You have the power to make this much more bearable for yourself. Let me tell you how I conduct myself, Son of Adam," she leaned back in her throne. "Know that I shall never lie to you. I swear it; you will only hear the truth from me."

Peter doubted that very much but decided against testing that declaration for the time being. He did not have much say in the matter either.

How long did she think she could hold him captive without his siblings noticing? The gleam about her and that wicked grin made him think she thought she had all the time in the world. He pushed the thought aside, afraid to consider what magic she had to make that possible. He needed to remain as calm as possible and panicking about potential possibilities would not help him.

"Secondly, I do very much hate crying, especially the cries of a human. Make too much noise and you will only cause yourself more pain," she warned. She absentmindedly examined her hand, adding words as if they held no consequence. "I do hope you are more like Edmund in that regard. At least, he was quiet while taking a lashing."

Her words shook him, and he could not help when he had to look away from her. Edmund had told him about her using a whip on him. He had too many scars as proof of it.

Peter could still remember the first time he had seen the scars. He had to sit down and nearly cried right there. Seeing the evidence of the Witch's maltreatment of his brother was far too much to bear.

"Did that bother you?" She asked as if she cared.

Her lips twitched almost to a smirk but it was not quite there yet.

"Lastly, my dear, if you attempt any escape, any resistance, you will suffer terribly for it." Her finger barely twitched, and a sharp pain stabbed Peter's chest. He startled at the action, and she just relished in her demonstration. "Now that we have established the rules, do you have any questions?"

At first, he thought she might be joking, but she waited. He thought of being silent to spite her. Yet, a question did find its way to his mouth.

"How are you back from the dead?" Peter asked. "Aslan killed you."

"Magic like mine never stays gone for long," Jadis replied. "Even Aslan has always known that. I wonder, did he ever warn you of my return?"

Silence was her answer.

The sharp pain returned, stronger than before as it jammed into his side, leaving him nearly breathless.

"You believe your defiance makes you strong. We will test that, I assure you."

"Why did you take me?"

"You brought me back," she snaked. "Your blood courses through my veins. I only live because of you."

"No," Peter fought the unsettling fear that rested around him. "Why did you use my blood?"

She smirked. No response ever came.

"We have more important things to discuss, little king."

Then, that was when the pain started.