"Have you lost your mind? I will not share a bed with him!

We are not even wed yet!"

At Peter's side, Lord Freyr went still as a stick while the King merely raised his eyebrow at the
willowy girl, blushing in indignation. At her side was his own brother, a hand pressing the bridge
of his nose, as if he might explode were he not holding himself in that particular way. Already
they stood closer than they should've.

"I didn't mean you, King Peter," Ava gasped out. "Although one could wonder how you've
relented to this ridiculous idea."

Nash Freyr practically glowered his disapproval, the stern call to his sister barely keeping from
slipping past his lips. King Peter lifted a hand to silence his soon-to-be sister's indignant
exclaiming.

"Lady Caelur, I assure you I am not going mad," Peter said calmly, faintly amused at Lady Ava's
furious blushing, which he thought was more of anger than shame. "And, again, you will share
rooms, not a bed. As you've already strongly remarked, you are not wed yet."

Edmund's hand left his nose, and his voice carried through the room sounding exactly as Peter
had expected it to: calm and yet utterly annoyed. "Do either of you honestly expect that word of
she and I sharing rooms is not going to come out? The rumours that it will incite? Have any of
you even considered her reputation?"

Ava's hands froze at her lap, and she went still as a rod at his side. Her brows furrowed a bit
and she glanced nervously at her brother for a brief second before turning back to look at her
hands. She is scared, noted Edmund but said nothing further.

"The matter of my sister's reputation," Lord Freyr's voice rose for the first time, a trace of
annoyance betraying him, "will be taken care of tonight. We are announcing your betrothal this
very same evening. As for my sister's actual virtue," Nash said dryly, looking at Edmund
severely. "Well, it is your job to keep it intact the remaining time to your wedding date."

Ava's lips were sealed shut, pressed quite tightly together, as if the mere idea disgusted her.
Edmund ignored the pang he felt at that and said, just as dryly and perhaps more viciously than
he'd have a few minutes ago, "believe me, my lord, when I say that won't be a problem." So
caught up he was in taunting her brother that Edmund missed the brief flash of hurt that crossed
Ava's face and the way her fingers had tightened around her skirts.

The King himself had had more than he could withstand. He ran a hand through his face and,
sighing, started, "both of you know what is being asked of you. Neither of us, not Lord Freyr or I,
desire your misery. But you are betrothed, and you are to be wed soon. Sooner than you may
think. At tonight's ball, you will act according to the situation at hand. That is an order." He
hadn't intended to come off quite as harsh as he had but alas, things were what they were.
Neither of them was looking at him or at each other, just straight forward with the same blank
stare. If only could they see what he was seeing.

"Think of this as a trial," he suggested, standing up from his chair. "You will live together and
spend time together. That will be the rest of your life. Make the most out of it, get to know each
other. Most couples don't get to do that before they marry."

The air in the room hung heavy with the excitement of the crowd, many a couple dancing in the
floor room, the feast going on at the sidelines. Over the dais was the royal family at the table,
Advisor Tumnus, a few nobles, Lord Giles and Lady Sophie sitting right next to him. The
evening had taken a delightful turn when the King had announced the purpose of the feast,
among the clinking of glasses and exhilarated laughs from the newcomers.

"It is my utmost pleasure to announce to you, my people, the joyous union of House Pevensie,
of royal blood, with the honourable House Freyr, through the betrothal and soon marriage of
both our siblings, Prince Edmund Pevensie and Lady Petra Thorne." Peter had then raised his
glass, charming smile plastered on as he surveyed the crowd. Most of them were taken aback,
although he didn't register anything too negative disappointment, maybe, he guessed over the
cease of availability of his brother and his fiance, who were both attractive, eligible people. "Let
us be reminded again of the beauty of the young love that blooms under duress, and of the gifts
that future brings for all of us. A toast for the prosperous marriage of these two good souls. May
you always find the shore."

May you always find the shore, the crowd returned, raising cups.

Narnia was moved solely by the shore, the sea. They were a small country that relied far too
much on the sea, on route of an empire, Susan always said. Lucy was the seafarer among
them, her connection ran deep down in ways Peter, a man of ground and heavy stone steps,
could never quite understand. She always shouted these toasts more fiercely.

The old legends said the world had once been a large mass of land, no water to be seen, and
men died of thirst daily. Then, a winter of a hundred years had set ground, and men died of cold
daily. That was until the Lion set foot in this world, in Narnia. He had come from the east, a child
of the sun, and the snow melted under his paws. So he roamed, for days and months and
years, roamed the whole snow-covered world, and the melted snow rushed to find a place to
occupy in the world and thats how the sea and the rivers had formed. They said the men that
still lived had travelled down the land, following the rivers, following the promises, years and
years without end. Many stayed and that was Beruna and Chippinton and Glasswater Creek.
But many, too, followed, their sons and daughters in tow, and at the end of the journey, they had
found Cair, had found the shore.
It was Edmund and Lucys favourite tale.

In retrospective, Peter couldn't ask for a better development of the evening. So far, neither of
the subjects had shouted each other's ear off, instead keeping a smile plastered in their faces all
through the night. It was satisfactory, their good attitude, even if they had barely spoken, but
that could be chalked up to a (pretend) shyness between the newly engaged.

Look at that, said Susan, leaning over her chair next to him and pointing discreetly at the table
where their siblings were. Peter looked at her curling lips before setting his eyes where she
wanted him to. Giles Thorne, seated at his other side, looked away too.

Sometimes small miracles happened, and people didnt even realize it. The band played the
perfect song at the right time. Prince Corin, always full of dashing energy, coyly extended his
hand to ask his royal sister for a dance, leaving the engaged alone with each other. The
universe aligned the right way the sea leaped at the shore. Edmund extended his hand as well,
and Petra reluctantly took it.

Small victories happened everywhere.

The piano flew in the air, the musicians quick fingers dashing through the keys, pouring out her
soul. The strings worked diligently at accompanying the piece, rapt fingers going over the
strings, handling their bows. Cello, violin, lyre, all delightfully shivering in the air. Dancers glided
over the marble floors, laughter bursting out of pure joy here and there. Oh, she could feel it in
her skin, the bubbles of the champaign, the soft, salty scent of the waves breaking under the
castle.

It had been over too soon.

At night, leaning as she was over the railing of the balcony in her new, shared rooms, she could
almost forget the reason such a wonderful night came to be, the reason she was even looking
out of this very same balcony. The sound of footsteps approaching, the creaking of the wood
under his weight, gave away the presence of another person and broke the enchantment.

He watched her, leaning over the sea, moonlight over her figure. In her nightgown, hair falling
out of her braid, quietly recovering from

Why are you so quick to dismiss me? Edmund inquired, annoyance sparkling in his eyes.