Hello, guys! God, I feel terrible…! I know it's been ages, but in my defence, I was unable to type (or do anything, actually) for several weeks, due to breaking BOTH my elbows on a silly bike accident. Casts suck and physical therapy was a bitch... I never thought elbows were so important.. But, never mind that, the chapter is here! I really enjoyed writing it and I can't wait to know what you peeps think!

Enjoy!

Chapter 18: The Night Is Dark

Princess Nabeela walked around in her tent, deep in thought. After Peter had left that morning, she had wanted nothing more than to kick up a scandal. Had he forgotten who she was? A well-rehearsed sob story to the Maharabian ambassador would suffice to drag the boy-King and his stupid family knee-deep into a diplomatic disaster. It was tempting, but she decided against it, not least because she was stuck in this god-forsaken place, far from any form of civilisation and miles away from Telmartown and a proper bed. Thankfully, reason had won over emotion before she could do something stupid, and she opted instead to reorganise her strategy, regroup and rethink her approach; after all, she was the daughter of a King and the Raj had always been a great diplomat and strategist.

Upon a lengthy consideration, the conclusion was that she had been very stupid and overconfident. Her first mistake had been to think Peter was anything like those other lovestruck suitors. No, Peter was a King and had an ego to match his title. She had been naive to think she could manipulate him with the same silly tricks she had used on other men. It had been much easier when she had been the one with the higher status. Men simply cannot help themselves and go about boasting the feat of gaining the affection of a princess; it inflates their ego and elevates their rank among their peers. And there resides their weakness. They are so confident in their conquest that they fail to realise they have opened themselves to manipulation; after all, the praise and envy of others relies solely on the willingness of the lady in question to continue to bestow her attention and affection onto them. They become addicted, ready to do anything and everything to avoid falling into ridicule and be targetted by the mockery of their friends. And the imbeciles call themselves the 'stronger' sex…

However, her status did nothing to tempt Peter's vanity. Until then she had barely made an effort to have men falling to her feet, she now realised she had to be cleverer in her scheme and work harder to get him tight in her grasp. After all, he could have any woman he wanted. Her mistake was to assume that was all he wanted, to have some fun and add another notch to his bedpost. Moreover, she had underestimated the influence of his family and friends. Whereas her former suitors' families had pretty much offered them on a silver platter, eyes glinting at all the riches and connections only a royal could put within their reach, Peter's inner circle, which comprised some of the highest ranking nobles in the land, valued character more than status. Unfortunately for her, the rather tight relationship between Narnia and Archenland could be potentially dangerous for her plans, but so far, Peter's stubbornness had played in her favour.

She also had to be careful with his siblings, whose opinion carried great weight on his decisions and could easily shift his perceptions; if it came to a choice, she was certain Peter would side with them. She had been foolish to bask in her small victories, her confidence had made her reckless. Losing her patience with the peasant girl had been ill-advised and had attracted too much attention to herself. The Queens had grown wary and the need to double her efforts into throwing them off her scent was an absolute must. She had never understood her father's attachment to the lower classes, and it appeared the Narnian royals were as eager to mingle with all sorts of company. She would have to keep that in mind and think of something to gain the girl's forgiveness, maybe persuade her with something pretty.

And then there was Tairin. The stupid refugee Princess should have better stayed in Archenland. Happily though, she seemed to irk Peter profusely and the two barely managed to hold civil conversation together. Yet, she needed to keep close attention on this matter; the passionate reaction they elicited in one another could easily become more than hostility. Or rather, she had to make sure it took the worst turn possible. She needed to keep feeding this antagonism, use it to her advantage, perhaps even cause a serious rift between Peter and Caspian. Her brain whirred with the possibilities.

In the end, they were all accessories. Her priority was to make Peter so utterly reliant on her that the opinion of others would not matter, to pull his strings so tightly that he did everything she asked him to. King or not, Peter was still a man and as prone to temptation as any. And temptation was a field she excelled at. Once she had him completely surrendered, taking care of the others would be child's play. Nabeela smirked, feeling her spirits lift. Seducing Peter would require some effort, but the reward would be well worth the hassle.

The Magnificent King took a swig of the bottle of wine, thinking he should have taken something stronger. He had walked aimlessly for what felt like hours, clinging to what was left of his sanity. He liked to think of himself as a diplomatic man, someone who championed dialogue over violence, civilised manners over brutish behaviour; then why the fuck had he punched Zephyr?! He could not explain it, not to himself least of all to others. When the Archen Duke had entered the makeshift arena, his reason had been drown out by something hot cursing through him, something primal and devoid of logic. It was as if his body had been taken over by someone else, like he had lost control of his physical force and hurting Zephyr became his only priority.

Without noticing he had walked to the cave near the sea, the place that had welcomed them back to Narnia.

He had had a pointless fight back then too.

It had only taken a push and next thing he knew, he was pushing and being pushed, punching and being punched. 'Act your age' he had been told then, but age had little to do with it. It was fear, it was impotence; the war had required them to become men, the men of the nation, they were expected to act maturely but, at the same time, they were constantly mocked and ignored for being 'just lads'. And the easiest way to vent that anguish, to prove themselves, was violence. Susan had advised him to walk way – heck, he would have told himself the same thing! – but right then, at that moment, he was not just a boy frightened about a war that was not his to fight. No, he was the king of a country nobody believed existed, a soldier who had fought battles nobody knew had happened. It was the impotence of of having lost everything he was along with his home. It all felt like decades ago, so much had happened since. Yet, the feeling of impotence had made its way back from the shadows. Peter pushed his head back and finished the bottle in a long drag. To his side, the stubs of stone of Cair protruded from the cliff side. His head was buzzing because of the alcohol and the few punches Zephyr had inflicted on him. And yet, he knew exactly where he was and where to go next.

A short climb later had Peter wandering through the ruins of the southern wing, where he and his siblings had previously kept their private quarters. He finally reached his destination, a medium sized room opening onto a small balcony, its double doors acting as windows and providing the room with natural light. A heavy chandelier had hung from the vaulted ceiling and under it, a solid cedar desk had filled the room. The desk – where had had spent countless nights reading, replying and drafting documents – was long gone, while the chandelier rested on its side by the floor, rusty and covered in dust and spiderwebs.

His study had been the only room, other than his chambers, that was solely his. The place where he had taken refuge countless times after a long tiring day, or when his head was so full he needed time to process every bit of information. It had made sense his subconscious had brought him here. Then, a sudden thought shot through his brain, his legs taking long strides across the room. Could that still be there…?

In the Golden Age, he had found a loose stone at the back of one of the built-in bookcases, about the size of a shoebox. It had started as a childish hiding spot for whatever snacks he wish to keep from sharing with his siblings, and had gradually become private safe-box of sorts for the couple of bottles of spirits he enjoyed drinking on his own. It took him a while to find the location of the stone; time had deteriorated everything and many creatures had made their homes in the nooks and crannies of the room. The King let out a surprised gasp when a dusty bottle became visible, untouched for 1300 years. Peter uncorked it and took a small sip, a soft noise escaping his throat at finding it was still perfectly drinkable. He drank a thirsty mouthful, misjudging the strength of the alcohol and coughing loudly. His lips and throat burned, but it was ironically soothing. Taking the bottle with him, he dropped onto the floor, his back propped against one of the walls.

His thoughts wandered back to the fight. It had felt good to punch Zephyr, to see him bleed and perhaps more importantly, to see him lose his temper as well. Up until then everything regarding the Archen Duke was praiseworthy, his diplomatic and fighting skills, his conversation, his charm, honesty, humility, wisdom… everything he did or said was perfectly timed; it had felt good to prove he was a flawed, red-blooded man like any other.

There it was again, the feeling of unsuitability. But unsuitable how?

And then it hit him: he was unsuitable for her.

He downed the crystal clear liquid with the thirst of a man lost in the desert, hoping for the burning in his throat to numb the name flashing in his head.

Her. Tairin.

As absurd as such a thing was, it explained the bout of violence and his ridiculous competitiveness against the man. The whole thing was laughable and made no sense whatsoever. Never had he met someone who stirred such a strong reaction, such a negative reaction, in him. His mother would say they had unfinished business from a previous life; the irony was that in his previous life he had been a respected King, one who tried his best to be a fair monarch and a good leader to his people. His reputation preceded him for Aslan's sake! And yet Tairin had a talent for bringing out the worst in him.

Then maybe she can also bring out the best.

Peter froze. Had he fallen asleep? Even if he had, it had felt very real; he would recognise that voice anywhere. The King looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse, a trace or a hint that announced the presence of the Great Lion, but was only met by dust and wind. He must have imagined it, he had been too long under the sun and alcohol had never been conductive to clear mental faculties. Shame. Talking to Aslan was exactly what he needed right now.

He rubbed his hands on his face vigorously, trying to shake himself out of his stupor. He was willing to accept that the Princess had her qualities; Susan had found a friend in her, she was generous and was capable of holding her ground against the Council morons, but they had made a terrible first impression on each other to last them a lifetime. He admitted wanting to prove her wrong about her assumptions on his character, and he had perhaps taken it too far. She had not helped matters by not making a secret of her dislike of Nabeela, among other things.

Peter groaned. That was yet another problem.

Their disagreement that morning had been weighing heavily on his heart. What was happening to him? Had this happened in the Golden Age, would he have walked away? Although he appreciated honour and chivalry as signs of good character, he had always opted for a more... flexible approach. He was not particularly proud of his charmer reputation in the past, but he had always been honest in his intentions and had never taken anything that was not willingly given. He had been more lax in regards to sex back then. His dalliances had always been quiet affairs, some short-lived, others long-standing; he had put great care in avoiding scandal, not so much for his reputation, but the ladies'. It was perhaps not stellar kingly behaviour, but it meant no harm and had never bothered him before. And yet, he could still not understand why he had pushed Nabeela away. It had taken much less for the King of Old to give into desire, and part of the Princess' allure was her worldliness and sexual confidence; he had known from the beginning that Nabeela was well-acquainted with the pleasures of the flesh, in fact, it had been one of the reasons that had drawn him to her.

She had told him she loved him.

If he was perfectly honest, his intentions when he approached her had been far from honourable. But had he misread hers? Then, the more they spent time together and the further they talked, the more these improper intentions weakened and strengthened at the same time. Nabeela was not just beautiful and sensuous, but also an intelligent, witty and politically savvy woman. In a very short time he had been captivated by all her facets and had maybe fallen for her harder than his flings of the past. But love? True, he had told her theirs was more than a fling and that his feelings were stronger than mere attraction, but it was too soon to speak of something beyond great chemistry. He had no qualms against taking things further if only he could be certain Nabeela would not misread his feelings; it was all fun and games until someone got hurt, and he was a firm believer that sex was harmless only when both participants were on the same page.

The King groaned and took another swig of his brandy, knowing a serious conversation with Nabeela was imminent and inevitable. The soporific effect of strong alcohol was hard to resist and he welcomed it gladly, allowing his mind to wander in and out of consciousness.

Nabeela had decided to breathe in some air and organise her thoughts on how to carry on her plans. She entertained the thought of joining the others at the beach for a moment, but thought against it; if she wanted to mend things with Peter, it was better she did it when there was less of a crowd. She would be crazy to risk getting lost in the forest and get eaten alive by the insects, so the only other option was to walk around the ruins of Cair Paravel. By Tash, how the mighty have fallen, a daughter of the Raj, used to walking through the most sumptuous gardens and elegant palaces, forced to make her way among rubble and overgrown weeds. The views were not all half bad, she thought, once she had reached a certain height. Perhaps once the damn thing was finally finished, she would consider making a permanent move to it; Queen of Cair Paravel did have a nice ring to it. She must count her blessings, and at least she had not encountered any workers, she was in no mood to deal with their ignorance and body odour. Her aimless wandering had taken her to one of the ends of a long, narrow corridor flanked by arched windows on one side. A noise nearby put her on guard and she turned around carefully, her gaze sweeping the area for any source of danger; by Tash, she hated being so close to the forest and the vermin living in it…!

Warily, she took a few steps forward, her gaze piercing the empty corridor. The absence of workers made the noise all the more disconcerting and alarming. Quietly, her sandalled feet crossed the length of the corridor and she peered into the lone room at the end of it. Exhaling a breath she did not know she had been holding, she felt the urge to contain a snort. The perpetrator was no other than the Magnificent King and an empty bottle of drink that had rolled away from him. How undignified was it for a King to be found on the floor, drunk into unconsciousness. He was slumped against the wall, head lolling to the side in a position that could not possibly be comfortable. A soft snort echoed in the room to complete the pitiful image before her.

Now, however disgraceful, this was very interesting. Up until that moment, she could have sworn he was frolicking at the beach, too caught up in his past to care much about the present – and her in it. Something remarkably scandalous must had happened for him to abandon his family and friends only to bury himself in the cold ruins of his former palace and drink himself to oblivion. Whatever the reason, it had driven him away from his nosy siblings and for her to stumble upon him at random could only be a gift from Tash. A thought started developing in her head as she gave the room the once over; being in such a remote area of the ruins meant there was little to no chance of them being interrupted. The room was surprisingly well shielded from the elements despite the cracks on the walls, a nice fire blazing in the hearth would take care of the slight chill in the air. There was something thrilling about a rough environment, she thought with a smirk, her skin crawling with delightful goosebumps at the memory of her back pressed hard against prickly haystacks, her nails digging into the flesh of a certain Calormene Prince's back; Tarik and her had always had a talent to bring out the worst in each other. Reluctantly, she pushed the image of the fiery Calormene out of her mind and focused on the task at hand. Leaving Peter to his nap, she hurried back to her tent to grab a few items and enough wood to make a good fire.

Lanterns and torches lined the path from the beach as the noisy troop of Narnians and Archens made their way back to camp. Completely spent but bursting with happiness, they were all looking forward to a hearty meal and some light entertainment before retiring for the night.

"Have you seen Peter?" Susan asked, clasping her arm around her younger brother's. She had parted with Tairin and the children as they went to wash in the river, and stayed behind to catch up with Edmund.

"He is a grown up man, Su, he'll be fine."

"That's just it, he is not, is he?"

"Fine or a grown up?"

"Either."

Edmund exhaled loudly. "I think Caspian is right: being here is messing Peter's head and he needs some time to sort himself out."

"But shouldn't it be messing with all of us? Yet I don't see you suddenly losing your mind and punching anyone."

"Well, no, but Peter was the one to suffer the most when we were back in… there."

"It was not easy for any of us, Ed."

"And yet, Peter did not just lose his home, he lost his power, the respect he inspired in others, Su; it is tough to go from King to nobody."

Susan stared at her brother; up until then she had not thought about that. Certainly, it had been hard for her and Lucy, but she had not considered that her brothers had it much harder, what with the war and all.

"Was it hard for you?"

"Yes, but I'm not High King, am I?"

Susan nodded, seeing his point. She tightened her grip on his arm and pressed her cheek to his shoulder.

"If you're worried about me running amok, don't; I've always favoured wit over force." Edmund snorted.

"And hasn't Peter always favoured diplomacy over violence?"

"Lets not forget he also favours emotion over logic, and his ego has been a tad overwhelmed ever since we came back." The Just King argued. "I do not condone it, I'm the first to call him out when he's being a twat-"

Susan swatted him at this.

"But as hard as he is trying to come to terms with the changes and adapt to this new era, I suppose there are times when he just can't help himself, and being here does not make matters easier."

"I can understand him being a bit… um… territorial, for lack of a better word, but in that case, wouldn't Caspian be the most logic antagonist? What I can't understand is why on earth did he rage out on Zephyr of all people!"

"Only Peter can answer that, I'm afraid. I'd like to think it was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time; had any of us taken Zephyr's place, the result may have been the same."

Although she looked less worried, his sister's frown had not disappeared. Truth was, Edmund could think of another possibility to explain Peter's outburst, but he could not be certain of it, and it would only make Susan worry further. Please, Aslan, let him be wrong in his assumptions, because if he wasn't, then his brother was set for a mess of catastrophic proportions.

"I just hope he makes his way back in one piece. Did you notice he took a bottle of wine with him?" Susan fretted.

Edmund was hit by a sudden idea and smirked.

"There's one way to find out, actually." he drew a breath and whistled, modulating the pitch and length of each note. Susan's initial confusion lasted a few seconds before she realised what he was trying to achieve. The King and Queen waited in silence, trying to hold back their excitement. A flutter above their heads caused them to exchange ecstatic looks with one another before they cast their glances to the source of their excitement. A majestic Owl stood stoically on a low branch, fixing them with its huge amber eyes.

"Your Majesties." the Owl said in its deep raspy mystical voice.

Edmund and Susan took a second before reciprocating the Owl's bow, too surprised to react.

"I can't believe it worked!" Edmund muttered.

"It has been the trait of a true and loyal Narnian to keep the old traditions alive, sire, and that includes the Ancient Call." the Owl puffed his chest proudly.

The Ancient Call as he called it was something akin to a language that the four young monarchs had developed on the early years of their first reign. It allowed for them to know each other's position and could be used to summon the others or in case of distress. They had used it amongst themselves at first, when they had taken to explore the forest around Cair, but had soon been adopted by most Narnians, particularly as Lucy appeared very eager to teach it to them.

"For which we are grateful, dear Sir." Susan smiled. "We are looking for our brother, you see."

The Owl nodded and emitted a series of hoots and clicks of the tongue, receiving replies and echoes from all over the forest. He then stretched his wings and soared into the night sky, circling the air a few times before perching himself once more above them.

"Cair Paravel, Your Majesties. The High King was last seen at the palace ruins."

Susan shot Edmund a worried look; the ruins were not safe even during the day, least of all at night and even less if drunk.

"Mr Owl!" came a muffled voice and Susan yelped, something moving under her foot. A mound of soil protruded on the spot an instant later, and the bespectacled face of a Mole sprouted from it.

"Mr Owl, I came as soon as I heard! My, it has been so long!" the Lady Mole chirped, dusting the soil from her apron. She was facing the opposite direction to where they stood. Narnian Moles had impeccable hearing – they could hear a whispered conversation perfectly while buried several feet under the ground – but they were extremely short-sighted, almost completely blind.

"Then tell Their Majesties what you know, Mrs Taupe."

The Lady Mole stopped mid-flick and blinked, then slowly turned around and adjusted her glasses.

"Oh, my word!" she squeaked. "And me covered in dirt! Apologies, Your Majesties, had I known..." she curtsied, flapping her little pink apron.

"We appreciate any insight you can give us, Madam."

Susan shot Ed a warning look. She could see the twinkle of laughter in his eye and he had used a charming hint in his voice, which clearly had the desired effect as the lady Mole was blushing and fidgeting with her little apron.

"Mrs Taupe," the Owl cleared his throat, an edge of impatience ringing in his voice. "Do you know anything about High King Peter's whereabouts?"

"Oh, yes, indeed!" the Mole squeaked excitedly. "Well, I was minding Mrs Rabbity's pups – messy little things, bless them – when I distinctively heard His Majesty's voice. I couldn't believe it, of course, I said to myself, High King Peter, here in our bit of forest? But sure as day it was him! My eyes are not what they were, but my, what a sight! And so tall!"

Edmund was really struggling to keep a straight face and Susan's lips were twitching dangerously.

"And where was this exactly?" the Owl's flat tone enquired. From his expression it was clear he was used to Mrs Taupe's chatterbox tendencies.

"The gardens. His Majesty looked to be walking towards the southern wing of the palace, well, what is left of it anyway."

Edmund and Susan exchanged a look. The southern wing… Peter's study!

"There was also a girl."

The monarchs turned to look at her in shock.

"She arrived some time later. I could not quite see her face, but she had dark features, not quite Telmarine, and she smelled strongly of sandalwood."

It was not at all hard to guess who this was.

"I wish I had more to tell you, Your Majesties." the lady Mole lamented.

"On the contrary, your help has been invaluable, Madam, Sir," Edmund thanked. "We shall be forever in your debt."

"Long Live Aslan!" the Owl exclaimed.

"Long Live Aslan!" the other three chorused. Minutes later, the King and Queen were once again alone.

"Seems like Peter's got a fan!" Edmund snorted. "She reminded me of Mrs Beaver."

"Doesn't she?" Susan chuckled, but her smile did not last very long, her thoughts returning to her missing brother.

"Look, at least we know Peter did not go far; he used to do this kind of thing often, remember?"

"I'd be less worried if he were alone." Susan's clear gaze shone with disappointment.

Edmund sighed and slipped her arm under his. "Come, lets head back. I don't know about you, but I'm famished!"

If his suspicion was correct, and he prayed to the stars it wasn't, then Peter's absence tonight was perhaps for the best. He did not, however, feel any reassurance about his brother's choice of company but refrained from telling his sister this not to add to her worry.

Peter snorted himself awake and looked around in confusion, groaning as his brain felt like someone had used it as a punching ball. He rubbed his face clumsily, leaving trails of dust on his cheeks and forehead. His mouth felt dry and crusty, and his neck ached with a dull pain as he stretched his back, another groan pushing past his lips.

"Shh, it's alright. Here, drink this."

Peter's battle-trained reflexes were dulled out by his hangover, but the sudden movement of his body as he tensed up sent a flash of pain that threatened to split his skull in half, blinding him for a moment.

"It's alright, this is just tea and it should be nice and cool, drink it, it'll make you feel better."

The clay cup was pressed to her lips and he took it, tracing the delicate hand through narrowed eyes.

"Nabeela…?"

How… where…? The last thing he remembered was stumbling into his old study in Cair, then drinking a whole bottle of 1300 year-old brandy. With hindsight, that last bit had been a very bad decision for which he was paying a painful price. But he had been alone, or at least, he did not remember anyone else… The warmish tea was refreshing and he drunk it with the thirst of a man lost in the desert. Some of it trickled down his chin, but he didn't care, not realising until then how parched he had been. No sooner the first cup was empty it was rapidly replenished and he downed it in large gulps.

"Better?"

Peter nodded. His body had reacted well to hydration and was starting to come out of its stupor. His sleep had been restless and filled with alcohol-induced nightmares, one in particular more haunting than the others. He felt groggy and feverish, and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms in an effort to clear his vision, but also to rid himself of the unwanted images resurfacing his foggy brain. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the light and Nabeela's full lips and vibrant brown eyes came into focus, her ebony hair glowing warm cinnamon with the last rays of sun that peered through the cracks in the walls. God, she was beautiful…!

Taken by a sudden urge to kiss her, the King lurched forward, sending the room spinning around and himself with it. Far from its intended objective, Peter's head fell on Nabeela's lap and he turned to look at her, grinning idiotically.

"Hello, beautiful."

"Hello, silly." she giggled and kissed his forehead. "Drunk much?"

"Sloshed!"

She laughed at this. He liked making her laugh.

"Well, King Peter, I suggest you drink some more tea while I put this cold compresses on your head; with luck you'll look less sloshed when we go back to the camp since we can hardly spend the night here."

"We could..."

Nabeela smiled, noticing the colour of his eyes change to a stormy blue, pupils dilated. Her special tea was beginning to work on him. Drunk as he was, he would hardly notice the effects of the tea and would not put any resistance. She had made sure to heat up the room as well to help speed up the process. She only needed to wait a little bit longer to make sure the herbs had fully entered his bloodstream, and then…

Peter felt feverish and disoriented. Under his skin, his blood felt like liquid embers and his clothes had become unbearably hot and stifling. But most distractingly, each of Nabeela's strokes sent bolts of electricity across his body, and her closeness was clouding all his senses. With every breath, the urge to take her in his arms and pin her under him became unbearable, uncontainable. Desire rang loud on his ears, muffling and superseding any other thought; he was incapable of any coherent thought that was not her.

"Wait here, I need to fill this with fresh water."

He felt her absence immediately and his muscles moved with surprising agility given his state, his body demanding hers. The basin fell and spilled its contents as he leapt after her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her onto the floor with him.

"Peter…!"

He was too busy tracing her neck with his lips, relishing on the taste of her skin. He kissed the side of her throat, a soft moan vibrating under his lips, her pulse quickening, and so did his. To know he was the cause of all these reactions was exhilarating and added to his light-headedness. Her caresses left traces of fire on his skin that nearly pushed him over the edge of reason – fuck, he was way past it already! One of this hands traced the side of her leg up to her thigh, sinking his fingers into the soft flesh, pulling her closer with uncharacteristic roughness. He wanted – needed – her.

He shifted them rather brusquely, gentleness utterly forgotten, so she was facing him. Her olive skin was flushed, glistening, her eyes liquid darkness. She took him by surprise by crashing her lips against his. Peter hissed loudly when her hands found the skin of his stomach and made their way up tortuously slow, until he decided his shirt was too much a nuisance and ripped it off. Nabeela twirled her index finger around the chain of his medallion and pulled him towards her, capturing her bottom lip between her teeth and nibbling softly, sensuously. Then, she pushed him away playfully, her fingers working on the draws of her dress as she inched backwards towards the cover she had previously laid on the floor. She pulled on the medallion mischievously while her foot kept him away. Lord, she was killing him!

Finally, the thin golden chain snapped and Aslan's roaring effigy hit the stone floor with a clatter, ignored by its owner. The King had grown tired of her games, and wrapped his fingers around her leg, dragging her closer, thrilled by her squeal. He captured her lips in a passionate kiss and pinned her arms above her head, his eyes piercing into hers with the look of a tiger who had just caught his prey. Moments later, their clothes laid abandoned in a messy pile.

Peter's head was swimming, consciousness drowned by lust. He was completely intoxicated by her, his body attracted to hers by an ache to be closer and closer still. His sight was blurry but her face was perfectly clear: her sun-kissed skin, her chocolate eyes framed by her rich lashes and thick brows, a tint of rose colouring her cheeks and the little cluster of freckles in the corner of her jaw, her messy dark curls spread like a halo around her…

"Say my name." she breathed sultrily on his ear. Their bodies were rocking together in an intimate dance, and he felt utterly and completely inebriated in her.

"Tairin."

The drunken moron collapsed on top of her and she pushed him aside, incapable of hiding her disgust. He rolled over limply, unconscious or nearly so. There was no room for mistake, she had heard correctly. He had called that woman's name, loud and clear. The taste of bile coated the inside of her mouth at the thought of it. She had had her suspicions but had made little of it. To be honest, it seemed that even the stupid fool had no clue of his true feelings. Her tea was known to have such an effect. Disgusted, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and shot him a dark glare, furious at his betrayal. The worst thing was he had no idea of what he had just done, in fact, it was unlikely he would remember anything at all in the morning, whereas she would remember that damn name leaving his lips forever. One day, she would make him pay for this, but for now, the deed was done. Even if he had no recollection about it, waking up naked next to her would be enough for his dummy brain to put two and two together. In the meantime, she had to adjust her plan to this new information; she couldn't risk Peter becoming aware of his feelings for Tairin and ruining everything. Throwing another dirty look at Peter, Nabeela turned her back to him and rested her head on her arm. Come morning there was a letter she needed to write.

After dinner, Myrina found Edmund hunched over the fire with a couple of envelopes in his hand.

"Good news I hope." she sat beside him.

"Not really." he exhaled. "Doctor Cornelius didn't have much luck finding more information on Ejdelhaegen. He did, however, find out Kaiser Joachim sent similar letters to Calormen and Archenland, maybe even other kingdoms as well. I sent letters to Tarnova and Maharayab yesterday, I was hoping to get an answer."

"Monarchs tend to be very busy people, I'm sure the Kings are trying to make time to reply to your letter with the attention it deserves." the Archen Duchess reassured.

"Spoken like a true diplomat." Edmund smiled weakly. "If only I still had my map, maybe I could find something new; you can discover a lot about a place from its neighbours."

"I am sure someone will have something relevant to tell you soon, but you'll need to be patient, Edmund."

"Not one of my qualities, I'm afraid. I'm not King Edmund the Patient."

"Clearly." Myr replied flatly. "Why don't you find something else to do? I'm sure there are plenty of things that could use your sharp wit around here instead of sounding like a broken music box, 'Ejdelhaegen this, Ejdelhaegen that...'"

"You understand nothing about adventure!"

"I was not taught adventure. My geography lessons were not for me to dream of faraway lands but to know where my future husband may come from." Myr replied without missing a beat.

Edmund exhaled loudly and rolled his eyes. "I still find the whole notion absurd."

"I respect that, but you have to agree with me that arranged marriages are the backbone of politics and royalty; whole kingdoms have prospered thanks to strategic alliances through marriage." she argued matter-of-factly.

"I refuse to agree on you being a commodity to be traded."

"I prefer to see it as a diplomatic exchange. After all, noblewomen are trained to socialise with ambassadors, nobles and royals; you'd be amazed at how convincing wives can be when it comes to deals and treaties."

"So are mistresses. Bed-sheet politics." he spat.

Myrina tensed her jaw at Edmund's hostility.

"I can't wrap my head around the idea that a clever, educated girl like you would willingly submit to a union that is much more profitable to the groom than it is to the bride. More often than not, the women are the ones to leave their homes, their families – heck, even their culture – to adopt their husbands'. Is that what you want for yourself?"

"If you were to marry me, would you move to Archenland?" Myrina challenged him.

Edmund was taken by surprise. "I-"

"Of course you wouldn't, because as a man you have more responsibilities. If I were Crown Princess of Archenland then I would never marry another King or future King. Whoever holds the least power is the one who makes the move, it just happens that noblewomen find themselves in this position more often."

"I'm trying to tell you it shouldn't have to!"

"And I'm trying to tell you that's how it is!" Myr hissed. "Anyway, I think it will be better if we agree to disagree, King Edmund."

Ed frowned at the coldness of her tone. "I did not mean to offend you, Myr."

"Of course not. You've only left your opinion on the matter very clear." the Duchess snorted. "Rest assured, I am aware of the unfairness of the situation, but I have chosen to accept rather than contest the fate I was born into." Myrina was not yet willing to let the matter go. "I do not appreciate you wanting to change my mind – by imposing your thoughts you are not better than the terrible suitors you speak so passionately against."

Edmund was genuinely taken aback by such vehement protest. "You are being unfair, Myr."

"This is not a question of fairness, this is politics. I think you forget that I am the daughter of a Prince, the niece of a King. Like most noblewomen in my position, I have been raised a certain way and with certain beliefs, however impractical or outdated. How would you feel if I challenged everything you've been told all your life? Furthermore, I remind you that Casarah's upbringing is not much different from mine, if at all! She was groomed to seek, please and marry a high-born nobleman, the more important the title, the better; someone like you, a king no less!" Myrina's blood was beating in her ears. She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips. Edmund's expression hardened noticeably.

"Forgive me, I spoke out of turn." she breathed guiltily.

"Don't. Anger has the quality of exposing a person's honest thoughts at times." the King replied acerbically. "As you well said, let's agree to disagree, Your Grace."

Myr felt a wave of anger lap in her chest. One mention of Casarah – and she had not said anything untrue – and he bristled up like a rooster. She would think that of the two of them, she was better equipped to understand the possible motivations of his and the Calormene's proximity.

"I shall leave you to your own devices. Good night, Your Majesty."

"Duchess."

Edmund followed Myrina with his gaze, feeling quite exasperated. Yet the longer he thought about it, the more he grew annoyed at himself for upsetting his friend.

Back in Telmartown, Glozelle stepped into the cobbled street and turned to thank his hosts once more. As promised, he had popped by Handria's house to fix the leak on the roof and had ended up staying for dinner on her aunt's insistence.

"You would not be refusing if you knew just how good Handria's lamb stew is. Hands of a fairy, I tell you, any man would be lucky to have her as his wife!" the elderly lady had exclaimed.

"Aunt Matilda! The things you say sometimes!" Handria shot her a look and smiled embarrassedly at him. "But she is right, though, you must dine with us."

Glozelle appreciated the gesture, but felt out of place; he was not properly dressed and covered in dirt and sweat from spending the whole afternoon on the roof under the sun.

"Please, I would not want you to go out of your way just for me." he smiled politely.

"Like you didn't go out of your way to fix our stupid roof! Come on, soldier, I won't have another word on this matter!" Matilda ushered him inside until he was sitting on one of the armchairs by the fireplace.

The stew had truly been delicious and he had genuinely enjoyed the company; he thought it had been a long time since he had enjoyed himself so much with other people. It changed from him eating his dinner with his niece, or back at the palace, usually hunched over some important document or another, or on the rare occasion Miraz required his presence at the dinner table.

"I must thank you for one exceptional evening, ladies. Truly, it has been a pleasure." he praised courteously, showing his impeccable manners, and pushing that last thought away.

"Come by any time, General, we have enjoyed your company greatly, haven't we, Handria?" Matilda beamed.

"I am no longer a General, Miss Matilda, just a man."

"A man of your bearing will always be a General, Glozelle; you command respect, and that's not something any man can do." she told seriously, her dark eyes peering deeply into his. "Anyway, I must take my herbs before I call it a night. Do pay us a visit soon, General." the old lady waved, disappearing inside.

"You must forgive my aunt, she can be a bit over the top." Handria chuckled.

"I appreciate her honesty." he replied, always the gentleman.

"You can say it, she is a bit of a pain in the arse."

Glozelle laughed. "I must admit, it has been long since someone has left me speechless, and she has achieved that with surprising ease. All in good fun, of course."

"Well, um, see you around, I guess. Be careful on your way back." Handria smiled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"I shall." he turned to leave, but changed his mind an instant later. "I almost forgot, I shall drop by tomorrow with the shingles for the roof, if that's alright with you."

Handria was pleasantly surprised. "Yes, of course, that's very kind, thanks."

"See you tomorrow, then." the soldier smiled.

"Yes, good night." Handria spoke, barely above a whisper, and followed him until he disappeared at the end of the road, his step carefree and relaxed.

"Handsome, isn't he?"

"Yes.." Handria replied absent-mindedly. "I mean, Aunt!" she sputtered, turning to look at her elderly relative. Matilda only smirked knowingly and blew the steam of her cup of medicinal herbs.

Lucy pushed the covers aside sleepily and patted the floor in search of her slippers. She hated having to go for a pee in the middle of the night, let alone in the forest, but she was the only to blame for having drunk so much sweet wine at dinner. Careful not to wake the others, she made her way out of the tent and headed to the secluded area where the chamberpots were kept. A few moments later and feeling much relieved, the little Queen walked into the refreshments tent with the intent of grabbing something to chew on on her way back, a midnight snack of sorts. Her hand froze above the fruit bowl when a growl behind her stopped her dead on her tracks. A million possibilities ran through her mind and she stood very still, cursing the darkness for her inability to see the source of the noise. If only she could light a lamp… Her only choice was to leave the tent; the longer she stayed inside with whatever was lurking there, the higher the chance it noticed her and attacked her.

Outside, the growls multiplied, and in the dim moonlight she could make out a couple of bulky shades, shorter than the nearby trees. Oh…!

Before she had time to react, someone grabbed her from behind and covered her mouth, muffling her grasp.

"Lu, it's me."

The Queen relaxed immediately and turned around to face her brother. Edmund pressed a finger to his lips and motioned her to follow him. They had barely moved a few steps when she was forcefully pushed into the ground, a warty, smelly troll missing them by mere inches. Lucy tried to ignore the pain on her knees and elbows and focused on making her breath as shallow and quiet as possible.

"We need to tell the others." she whispered, once she had made sure the troll wouldn't hear her.

"Caspian's gone wake the Archens. You go get Susan and Tairin and take everyone to Cair." Edmund instructed. Lucy nodded and scuttled towards the tent she shared with the girls.

In the neighbouring tent, Caspian leaned closer to Gemini and shook him awake, gesturing him to keep quiet and help him wake the others.

"A troop of trolls have wandered into the campsite." he told them succinctly. Rainidan clamped a hand over Scorpio's mouth instinctively and the blond shot him a glare.

"Gemini and Rain come with me. Zeph and Scorpio, help the girls take the children to safety. Run to Cair and alert Tavros, tell him to summon the centaurs and bring as many workers as you can. Be careful for the trolls not to follow you."

The four men nodded in understanding and exited the tent stealthily, separating in opposite directions.

"How does one fight a troll?" Rainidan murmured.

"Make lots of noise and move fast. This confuses them and forces them to run away from it. Hitting your shield with a rock usually does the trick." Edmund explained, joining the group. "But avoid fighting them directly; their skin is thick and you become an easy target if you get too close."

Meanwhile, Susan and Tai herded the children through the fringe of the forest, while Zephyr and Scorpio closed the group and protected the rear. On the opposite side of the campsite, Caspian and the others had started rattling their weapons and Edmund had thrown a rapidly flammable powder into the hot coals, roaring flames lighting up in a matter of seconds. Under the light cast by the flames, the grotesque figures of the three trolls became visible and they roared and grunted, spooked by the fire. Susan hurried the children towards the path leading to the Orchard, keeping an eye on her brother, sweetheart and friends. Their tactic worked well for a moment, until one of the trolls became twitchy and swung his club haphazardly, slamming it into one of the tents. The creature yanked it around to free his weapon, too close to the flames, the tent catching on fire with amazing speed. The troll was sent into a panic as he tried to shake the accidental torch away, moving closer in Susan and her group's direction. The Gentle Queen readied her bow and shot a warning arrow at the troll, the red-tailed arrow scratching the creature's ear. This riled it up more, and it swung its club dangerously.

"Susan!" Zephyr cried, tackling the Narnian Queen to the floor, the shapeless club cutting the air inches above their heads. Taril and Ameril took advantage of this moment of distraction to escape Tairin's grasp, grabbing as many rocks as they could carry and pelting the troll with them.

"Catch us if you can, you brainless moron!" they taunted, running into the forest.

"Boys!" Zephyr yelled, sprinting after them.

Susan exchanged a look with Tairin. "I'll go after them, you go ahead and don't stop!"

"Come on, you heard her." Scorpio compelled, his pale blue eyes urging Tairin to carry on with the plan.

"Has anyone seen Peter? And where is Myr?" Lucy asked, craning her neck to see if her brother had joined the fight. Scorpio and Tairin shared a look, the same thought on each their minds.

"I'll get him and Nabeela, and hopefully find Myr on the way!" Tairin decided, running in the opposite direction before Scorpio could stop her. Understanding the gravity of the situation, the Archen grabbed Lucy and Cora in his arms before they too decided to run away, and marched towards Cair Paravel.

"Zeph is going to kill me…!" he moaned under his breath.

AN: There you have it, so many things happening! I'm shaking with excitement at what I have planned for next chapter! Also, yes, I was very tempted to name the chapter 'the night is dark and full of terrors' (GOT forever!) but it was a tad toodark; trolls aren't that scary.

As always, I love reading your comments, so keep them coming, folks!

Cheers!