Moments in Time

Disclaimer: Copyright J.K. Rowling & C.S. Lewis

VIII: Rendezvous

or

"The dead of midnight is the noon of thoughts."

"I find it absolutely fascinating..."

Edmund looked up from his plate of roast dinner and at the girl sitting opposite him. Her nose was stuck in one of the history books that he had given her (from his personal, private collection which had been salvaged during the attack at Cair Paravel after their disappearance).

He wasn't quite sure how it started, how midnight liaisons in the kitchen became something of a norm for them. It started off with Edmund starving himself during the day, unable to eat the awful Calormen food that Peter would not allow the kitchen staff to throw away. And Hermione, who apparently was the only other person in this castle who had taste buds, met (by accident) for some edible sustenance at the dead of the night ... and somehow that had transformed into them returning the subsequent nights in search of friendly company.

"..." he looked at her expectantly.

"...that the first King of Narnia was formally a London cabby!" she exclaimed, looking at him with shining bright eyes.

Edmund smothered a smile; he hadn't met anyone else who shared the same passion for knowledge like him in Narnia before ... apart from Doctor Cornelius, that is.

"Frank I was well loved by the Narnians, they only had pleasant things to say about him ... Narnia has a way of bringing in those deserving ones who are lost and showing them a better path."

"Is that why you trust me then?" she asked out of curiosity.

"Who says that I trust you?" A smirk played on his lips, but his gaze was dangerous.

Hermione shrugged, "Well for two reasons really ... one, you haven't chucked me in the dungeons."

"And the other?"

"...You haven't told your siblings about me yet."

"How do you know that I haven't?"

"Your sister Lucy, as lovely as she is ... can't keep a secret can she?" The smirk on his face grew. "...What I mean to say is, I suspect that if she knew ... I would be subject to quite a bit of ... uh, questioning."

She played the white stick of hers that she seemed to carry everywhere. He watched with bored interest as she rolled it around on the surface of the table. It was an intricately carved piece of wood, the detailing was so small that he could not pick out the etchings, but he couldn't help but be intrigued by its tranquil beauty.

"Can't say that you haven't hit the nail on the head there."

"So why haven't you?"

"Why haven't I, what?"

Hermione sighed at his stalling; the air that escaped her mouth blew a strand of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes.

"Told your siblings about me," she said, the irritation evident in her voice as she tugged at the lock and placed it behind her ear.

His eyes connected with hers, and they held each other's gaze for a while. He took in the honesty in her eyes and she took in the wariness in his.

"So, what's with the stick?"

He broke eye contact and stared at the white wood again. If she had been annoyed by him dismissing her question again, she didn't show it, as her attention had been successfully diverted.

"Stick?" she asked.

He could tell that she was suddenly playing dumb; her voice was honeyed with fake innocence. Were he a simpler man, he may have been fooled.

"Yes, the stick. You seem to carry it around on your person as though it's a weapon. What are you planning to do? Poke the enemy in the eye?"

There was a brief flash of panic in her eyes and a straightening of her spine.

"Well, yes, that is one use of this ... stick, I suppose." Her breath was hitched.

And then, all of a sudden, she smiled. Her posture relaxed, becoming less defensive. Edmund leant forward with interest, wondering if she would be parting with one of her closely held secrets for once.

"Why King Edmund, I'm surprised that you haven't already figured it out ... it's my magic wand," she whispered the last bit as though it was a secret.

Edmund scowled as he moved away from her.

"I was planning on turning you into a frog ... give those girls in town their own King-in-disguise to kiss and find true love..." (Edmund inwardly shuddered at the thought) "...but, alas, you have discovered my deep, dark plot."

Edmund snorted at her teasing; his chagrin melted away and the lines on his face eased.

"Yeah, right sure you were ... straight after you turn Peter into an ass..."

Her eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Oh woe is me, all that planning has gone to pot," she said, her tone sounding very much as though she was enjoying a private joke.

The amusement on his face faltered slightly as he looked at her with acute suspicion. Her smile remained, though seeming more forced now than before ... perhaps she thought that she had gone a bit too far. But before he had a chance to question her further, she abruptly stood up, collecting her wand, book and her finished plate of food. Quickly cleaning the plate in the sink, she bade him goodbye and disappeared before he even had a chance to offer to walk her back to the infirmary. Left in his thoughts, Edmund considered what she had told him.

Surely not ...

A witch ... that was impossible.

Absolutely improbable.

Her wand wasn't even a real one. He remembered Jadis' wand, long and sharp as a sword and carved out of ice.

She had just been mocking him ... she was a mere girl from London. Her accent was distinctively British and even she had admitted it.

There were no witches in London ...

... No, definitely not.

"Don't have your magical wand with you today?" he asked as casually as one would ask about the weather as he strolled into the kitchen.

Like routine, he dumped his sword and jacket on a stool by the door. He unbuttoned his top collar buttons and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. As he walked closer to her, his eyes roamed over her corset-dress clad figure ... it had been days since he had seen her in something so feminine. He inwardly grimaced; she looked much better in a tunic and breeches - it set her apart from looking like every other girl in Narnia. Though having said that, being able to see her shapely figure accentuated by the tight dress wasn't so harsh on the eyes either.

She blushed at his attentive gaze and pulled the object in question from between the ribbon tied around her waist.

Edmund raised an eyebrow.

"You know, were it not for your able mind, I would be distinctively worried about your attachment to a stick."

"What is a witch without her wand, King Edmund?"

Edmund rolled his eyes at her continued joke.

"Edmund," he muttered as he grabbed a slice of the cake set on the table.

"Beg pardon?" she asked as though she hadn't heard him the first time around.

"Edmund, it's just Edmund," he said through gritted teeth.

She looked at him with disbelieving eyes, as though she was unsure why he was offering her the honour when he clearly wasn't comfortable with it.

"Seems a bit redundant to be using titles when we meet in the kitchens in the dead of the night."

"Only by a coincidence of course..." she said, with furrowed eyebrows.

"Indubitably," he smirked.

The crease between her eyebrows deepened. Was he ... flirting with her? There was a muffled snort from behind them and Hermione's eyes fell on the grey wolf. The King's guard was so well trained to blend into the background that Hermione often forgot his presence.

"So, coincidentally, what are you doing here tonight?" asked Hermione, swiftly moving her gaze away from the intimidating Wolf.

It was a valid question; for the Calormen food had been swapped to honour the other visitors: the Archenlanders.

"I guess I got used to the midnight snacks." Edmund shrugged noncommittally, as he ruffled his soft hair with his hand.

The Wolf behind him made a snuffling sound as he padded around the room impatiently.

"How are you healing up?" he asked, suddenly all too aware of her penetrating gaze on him. It was unnerving and made him extremely uncomfortable.

"Well," she replied with a shrug, looking away. "I was taking a walk in the gardens with Queen Lucy and discovered some dittany ... did you knew that one of the properties of the essence found in the sap can heal and regrow skin over a wound?"

Edmund looked at her with surprise, no, actually, he did not. Dittany was known in Narnia for its flammable vapours; it was a plant that was harvested for use as ammunition.

"It can also prevent scarring if swallowed."

"You ate the burning bush?" Edmund asked her with wide eyes, looking at her as though he thought her crazy.

"Like I said, it has impressive healing properties."

"You're not telling me that Healer Cloudbirth allowed you to swallow the burning bush?" Edmund asked sceptically.

Hermione blushed, "Well I may have taken it when he wasn't looking."

Edmund's eyebrows rose at her daring.

"And the essence?" he asked now, out of intellectual curiosity.

"How do you think I'm wearing a corset?"

"Amazing," Edmund muttered, in awe. "How did you know about the dittany?"

"It's a well known ... cure back home."

He ignored the pause in her sentence for the moment; he would file that information away for later.

"You're one very curious woman, Hermione."

"How so?"

"Well for one, you seem to have a vast knowledge on ... everything." ('For someone supposedly enslaved,' remained unsaid but she knew that was what he was hinting at.)

"Insufferable little know-it-all," she murmured, her eyes taking a far-away look.

Edmund flinched, "Well, I wouldn't exactly call you an insufferable know-it-all."

His face was an expression of 'no-offense-intended'. Hermione let out a small laugh, the conversation, the topic, the words, just so reminiscent of the girl who she used to be.

"No, not you. Back home ...being a know-it-all was one of my more defining qualities. 'You know that Hermione Granger?' ... 'Oh, yes, that insufferable little know-it-all from Gryff-' hmmm-" Hermione stuttered at the end, muffling the words that had been on the tip of her tongue.

It seemed that with her, it was all riddles and half-spoken words. Edmund frowned. How many instances was he going to overlook to give her the benefit of the doubt?

"What was it like?"

She stared at him with wide eyes.

"Back home - you come from far into the future to me - was there another war?"

"No. Peace and prosperity reigned after World War II. They even managed to get a man to the moon."

"The moon?" Edmund asked with awe, the last he remembered of Britain was the rations ... and even that was slowly becoming a distant memory. Narnia had that effect on you. Over time, you just ... forgot.

"Yes! It was quite the accomplishment for muggles! One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind."

Edmund filed that quote away for later, but his mind clung to one of the words she used.

"Muggles?" he questioned, "What's that?"

She stiffened.

He was slowly beginning to realise that it was a sign that she was about to lie - but he had to hand it to her, she had enough self-control not to dart her eyes, fidget or wet her lips like most people did out of nervous habit. He wondered what excuse she was going to provide this time.

"Yes ... it's a slang word for humans."

The winning look in her eyes and suppressed smile on her lips told him that she was pleased. She was delighted because once again, she had managed to twist her words and embroider her lie with the truth. He had no doubt that it was slang for 'humans', but he knew that he was missing the context it was taken out of. Edmund had never been so gratingly frustrated in the company of another before. He wanted to grasp her by the shoulders and shake the truth out of her. On another perspective, he now knew why the Lords of the Court hated him so much. It was maddening to be in the company of one who seemed to be two steps ahead of everyone else. Sly words and concealed lies were the essences of the Silver-Tongued King and it appeared that there was now one person who was better at it than he was.

"Funny world, the future," he commented, at last, wetting his lips.

"It always is to those on the outside, looking in," she said off-handedly, picking at the remaining pieces of her Victoria Sponge.

Edmund couldn't decide if he loathed her or admired her.

Edmund Pevensie was a man on a warpath.

He hated her.

He despised her guts.

And were it not politically damning, he would happily run a sword through her chest and be done with it.

As he stalked through the darkened corridor, his mood worsened. They were back to the Calormen cuisine after the little Princess threw a hissy fit, and once again, he was a starving man. It was ridiculous; he was a King ... he shouldn't have to wait until dusk to be able to eat. He didn't know how his siblings were stomaching it.

He growled as he threw the door into the kitchen wide open and chucked his sword against the wall. It clattered loudly before it bounced back with equivalent momentum. Without the grace expected of a King, he plopped down onto the bench, and burrowed his head between the crook of his arm and screamed (quite loudly).

"Oh dear." Someone beside him muttered.

Snapping his head up, he peered at Hermione through his bangs. ... of course, she would be here. That's exactly what he needed right now, her to irritate him with her all-knowing secretive ways and words. Growling viciously, he snatched a delicious looking pastry and stuffed it into his mouth; chewing like a wild man. Hermione continued to stare at him with wide eyes. She let him compose himself for a moment.

"... Are you ... alright?" She hesitated, placing her hands on her lap and moved out of his reach subtly.

Edmund forced himself to calm down; there was no need in frightening the girl. He grumbled unintelligibly.

"Sorry, what was that?" she asked with a grimace.

"I am going to kill her!" he roared impatiently, his calming technique failing him.

Hermione looked understandably taken back, "...erm, - who?" Her tone was meek.

"Princess fucking Mina!"

"Are - are you allowed to be using her name in that way?"

"No, but I don't bloody care. You hear me? Jadis' baggy tits, I don't care!"

"... Okay ..."

"Bad enough I have to put up with her batting her eyes and palming my torso but I draw the line at food. I need my sustenance. I cannot, I cannot do another day of this."

Hermione's lips twitched minutely.

"What's stopping you from coming here during the day?" she couldn't help but enquire.

"Were you not listening to me? I have to tend to little miss prissy's every beck and call or lo-and-behold, I may be stirring an already strained peace treaty if princess goes running back to her daddy."

Hermione couldn't hold back her smile anymore and that only made Edmund more infuriated.

"Don't smile. It's not funny."

"Sorry." She looked anything but. "I thought you would be used to the fawning ladies. Men like you are usually so flattered over things like that."

"Men like me?" Edmund spluttered indignantly.

"Well, Kings - and men in power -" Hermione trailed, not quite sure where she was taking this.

"I thought we agreed on disregarding stereotypes, Hermione."

She shivered. "So you're telling me that you aren't at all flattered by it?" she asked sceptically.

"Well, of course, I'm flattered," she cast him an 'I-told-you-so' look. "But that doesn't mean it isn't at the same time extremely irritating and disturbing. The way they flutter their eyes - you would think that they have a perpetual twitch going on."

Hermione giggled and for the first time Edmund's frowning face eased up, he smiled warmly.

"It's one of the things I like about you. You're able to hold a conversation without resorting to such underhanded techniques to get attention," he said the words had left his mouth before he registered them.

Hermione's smiling face froze. Her mouth fell half-open, her cheeks turned pink and her eyes went wide with stupor.

"Well - I -," she stammered, speechless.

Edmund was also stunned by what he had said; he hadn't even admitted it to himself. He felt his cheeks warming. Hermione cleared her throat.

"I think I best be returning, Your Majesty," she murmured.

Edmund inwardly flinched at her switch to his formal title.

"Allow me to escort you back," he said, standing up.

"Oh, but you haven't had your dinner yet," she protested, looking like she was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

If there was only one thing that Lucy had right about her brother, it was that he was a man who got what he wanted. So, he stood his ground.

"I've let you walk back alone twice this week, and it was my misreckoning to allow you without an escort. No place in Narnia is safe at the moment, especially in a castle populated with Calormens."

Hermione looked undecided, but upon his hard gaze, she conceded.

"Well, alright then."

She collected her wand and tucked it back into her sash and dress and then handed him the large history book she had borrowed.

"Got bored?" he asked her, weighing the tome in his hands, it was a hefty read. Hermione, for some reason, looked offended.

"Bored? Heavens no, I finished it."

Edmund gazed at her with alarmed eyes.

"You ... finished it?" He stared at the large text in his hands ... how was that even possible?

"Yes, it was only a bit of light reading," she commented as she brushed some invisible dust off her skirt. She sounded as though she had read books that were even larger - which sounded absurd to Edmund's ears.

"Light reading," Edmund echoed, with a hint of mirth in his voice, "right."

He gazed at her again with a look that bordered on fond incredulousness and genuine disbelief.

"I suppose we can take some food with us as well then, drop both of them off in my solar."

Hermione shrugged apathetically; she didn't seem to mind.

Edmund walked her to his room.

He had slipped his jacket back on and his trusty sword was once again back on around his waist and her hand was on his arm. The weight that Edmund carried on his person, he had become accustomed to over the years. He had even offered his arm to plenty-a-women before, but for the first time, he noticed how right it felt. Her warmth seeped through his light summer clothes and it was welcoming. There was something else in her touch that was so calming, that he was almost regretful that they had reached his room. Dislodging her arm from his (with a heavy heart), he opened the door and welcomed her in.

Hermione had only been in this room once before, and the last time, she had left in tears. He winced as he remembered how insensitive he had been to her plight. There were better ways that he could have handled that situation; but Edmund was also a stubborn man who despised apologising - even if the fault was entirely his - so he remained silent.

"So this is your hideout?" she asked rhetorically, as she, for the first time, admired the room for its artistry.

The western wall was a screen of full-length windows that provided a breathtaking view over the cliffs and to the sandy shores. Long red curtains with gold trimmings were held open, letting the moonlight into the room. Hermione was sure that during the day it would look stunning. The other three walls, (tastefully decorated with opulent red and gold themes) were covered from top to bottom with shelves and there was not a free inch between the stacked books. Hermione noted the ladder that rested against the end of the bookshelf that would help him reach books that were high up. Edmund walked towards it and placed the history book back in its rightful place.

A large glass candle-lit chandelier hung from the ornate ceiling (Hermione briefly wondered how they lit it - with it being up so high - without magic). Dotted around the room were priceless looking ornaments and furniture that no doubt was handcrafted for the King. There was a beautiful two-seater divan at the south-east corner of the chamber. The vintage buttoned sofa was stunning with its gold leaf detailing and flamboyant ornate carvings. The padded luxurious soft-looking red damask fabric covered the seats looked thoroughly inviting. Hermione just wanted to cosy up with a good book on that sofa. On the East Wall, she could see a large opening that was currently closed with red curtains made of the same material as the ones on the windows. She noted the emblem of a gold lion on its rear legs, the flag of Narnia. She concluded that it probably led to his sleeping quarters. Curiosity itched at the back of her mind, making her wonder if his bedroom was as magnificently decorated as his living quarters.

"You have your own private library," she breathed, that being the one fact that she admired most.

Given that it was a pretty large room, her mind boggled at the extensive collection he owned. He looked quite proud of it too.

"Susan designed the rooms when Cair Paravel was rebuilt," he commented, taking a familiar posture on the edge of his desk.

The last time he had done that, it had been to intimidate her. He was still just as intimidating, but not in the same way. This time, it felt more ... intimate. She found herself walking towards him.

"Yes, I read about that. The Telmarines attacked Narnia shortly after your disappearance. I bet the original castle was just as beautiful."

"More beautiful..." Edmund said with a wistful look in his eye.

Hermione smiled weakly at him and walked around his table, reaching for the books on his back wall. Her fingers brushed against the spines of the books; she let herself be enveloped in the sensation. This was familiar to her.

"You're welcome to borrow any book you like," he commented from behind her.

The smile on her face widened, she spun around.

"Real-"

She crashed into his solid torso. She hadn't been aware that he had been standing so close.

"Oh," she whispered, her hands rested against his chest and his were suddenly around her waist, grabbing on to steady her.

Her chest brushed against his with every staggering breath she took; she braved a glance up at him. She was left speechless by the burning intensity behind his onyx eyes. His eyes fascinated her. They were unlike any that she had seen before; they way they changed from a pale grey to jet black was quite ... seductive, if she was honest. When his nose bumped against hers, she suddenly jumped back, becoming aware of her situation.

Both of them averted their eyes uncomfortably shifting and coughing. The tension in the room was so thick; it could be cut with a knife.

"That's very kind of you," Hermione said, clearing her throat.

Edmund nodded stiffly, he was looking anywhere but at her. Feeling awkward, she walked back to the desk, intrigued by the book on his desk.

What was he reading?

She picked up the book, looking at the numbers on the page with confusion that was slowly morphing into realisation.

Edmund snapped out of his embarrassment when he realised what she held in her hands.

"Those are state secrets." He barked impolitely.

Hermione jumped, dropping the book in her hands. She bent down to gather the loose pieces of parchment from the ground and Edmund joined her.

"You write your state secrets in binary code?" she asked.

Edmund froze.

Hermione acknowledging his inaction looked up at him.

"You know this code?" He asked her with the desperation of a desirous man.

Hermione stood up with the book.

"Well ... yes. The binary code is a system of representing letters, numbers, commands, images and sounds using ones and zeros. It's amazing really because the string ones and zeros appear to be random but there is a process to it. It's a pattern. It's the basis for modern computing. It was invented by-"

Edmund had been pacing up till now. "-by Gottfried Leibniz. The Explication de l'Arithmétique Binaire. Of course!" Edmund exclaimed, smacking his forehead with his hand.

Hermione winced as the sound reverberated through the room.

How had he not thought of it sooner?

"Do you know it?" he asked, grasping her by the shoulders. "Do you know the code?" The frenzy was evident in his eyes.

Hermione presumed that he had spent hours, maybe days, trying to crack this code.

"No," she said, being the bearer of bad news.

His shoulders slumped defeatedly.

"-But we can figure it out."

She placed the book down on his desk and grabbed a new piece of parchment from his desk. Edmund went to help her with the writing equipment, but with the competence of someone who's had long-term practice with an ink pot and quill; she dipped it in at just the right angle, waiting for the perfect amount of time for the ink to be sucked in, letting the excess drip back into the pot before she started scrawling on the parchment, making no splotches.

Edmund was stupefied. Even in the 1940s quills were a thing of the 19th century; mass produced steel nib tipped pens were what Edmund had grown up with - what she should have grown up with too. History served to evidence the fact that people rarely went back to prehistoric ways. The list of strange facts about Hermione Granger continued to grow. He focussed on her when he realised that she was speaking to him.

"... I remember reading that the alphabet had eight digits. It starts with a '01' - we just need to work from there and decode it."

"Right," Edmund whispered numbly.

"In the English alphabet, 'e' is the most used letter. So we need to find the binary that appears the most in this ... code ... and work our way from there." She stated resolutely with the tone of a military commander, sitting down in his chair without another thought.

She seemed to be in a trance, as though solving mysteries was run-of-the-mill for her. With frightening speed, the quill scratched against the parchment in an elongated, elegant typography. Edmund frowned deeply over her head. He met Dagger's gaze as they openly contemplated the sphinx-like girl. Dagger shook his head; his Wolf heightened senses did not pick up anything dark or malignant emitting from her. In fact, the vibes he got from her told him that she could be trusted.

"Are you going to make yourself useful?" she asked haughtily, pausing in her research as she peered at him with a glare.

His worries melted away as he looked at her with amusement.

She really was something.

And so, the two academics poured over the encoded characters deep into the night; the packed parcel of pastries forgotten.

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A.N./ Some chapters are easier to write than others. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter; it was full of Edmund and Hermione! I think it's finally time for them to spend more time in each other's company without the interruption from others ...

Thank you, thank you, thank you to all these lovely people: Royal Lemur, Hohoho, Barro Cha Cha, Comic Critic, twztdwildcat, AliceinWonderland13 and dreamcatcherinthemoonlight. You guys are the best!

COOKIE (.;)

Peter Pevensie was a wise young man. He may have a temper that short-fused when someone threatened the safety of his siblings, or Narnia, or questioned his ability to rule ... but his heart was in the right place. He wanted to provide the best for his kingdom and be the best at his job. After all, there was only one High King of Narnia, and he had to live up to the legacy he had left behind the first time around. As High King, Peter rarely had the time for fanciful things such as love and relationships. Such commitment required effort that he was not willing to sacrifice his time to make (hence the bedwarmers who were nothing but a casual fling - as ashamed as he was to admit); but he would by lying, if he said that he did not feel lonely as he watched Susan and Caspian head-over-heels for one another. He and Edmund may tease the couple, but both Pevensie Kings knew that they would, in a heartbeat, snatch up that one woman who was the game-changer. And that was what Peter had found in Cassiopeia.

The minute that Peter laid his eyes on her he knew. He was aware that, that she was the one for him. In all her effortless, charming grace and remarkable sweetness, he had, quite literally, fallen in love at first sight. Let the fair hair on her head not fool you, as Cassiopeia, contrary to stereotypes about blondes, was as vicious as she was kind and as shy as she was bold. It was the complexity of her character that had intrigued him.

He was embarrassed to admit that the first time he had met her, he had not been present as she was announced at the gala that Susan had thrown in benefit of a new school for the young Narnians. In the absence of a crown atop her head, Peter had mistaken her for just another maiden he had mistakenly overlooked because, by-the-mane, she was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on. And so, he had approached her, as she genially conversed with his brother, interrupting as he, drunkenly leant towards her, disarming her with his bright smile and whispered lewdly in her ear. Perhaps he had not been as quiet as he had hoped for Edmund had heard him, his younger brother looked appalled, "Peter!" He had exclaimed.

But that was not all, for Cassiopeia, who had, until that moment, been looking forward to meeting the esteemed High King, fixed him with a deadly glare. She straightened her back, pulled away from his alcoholic breath and pitched her goblet of wine at him. With a huff, the princess had stormed off, while Edmund pulled him aside and hissed, "that was the Princess of Archenland, you fool!"

The shock and anger towards the insolent girl immediately fell off Peter's face, as he realised his mistake. The far more eloquent King had rushed off after the angered Princess, in an endeavour of preventing her sending a letter home to her parents; and quite potentially destroying a treaty of peace that had lasted for more than a millennia between the two countries. Thankfully, Cassiopeia was not the type of girl who favoured wars, much to the relief of Edmund; who had then joined her in a conversation of mocking Peter - that moment of Peter's unsoundness had cemented Edmund's and Cassiopeia's friendship.

Peter, on the other hand, had grovelled for the remaining days of the Princess' visit, having diplomatically claimed temporary insanity and not being of the sound mind that night. The Princess had finally forgiven him on the last day of her visit, the impish smile on her and his brother's face would have led him to believe that they had purposefully dragged out his retribution; had the Princess not been so strong in her words of admonishment; never had Peter had a thorough scolding - not even from his mother. From that day on, Peter's trysts became a thing of the past, and his admiration for the Archenland Princess turned into an embarrassing fondness (Edmund would call it an infatuation).

"Peter?" Cassiopeia's soft whisper echoed through the dead of the night, breaking him away from his thoughts.

Peter smiled, stepping out of the shadows.