#magnificent

What in Aslan’s name- your head whipped over to the door, yelping as a man with hair as golden as the sun burst through, stumbling over his own legs. “Excuse me-” 

His clothes were much too grand for a servant, his hair much too clean for a butler. And as he stood, you realized who exactly had fallen into your kitchen. 

“Your Majesty!” Your eyes grew wide as you sank into a deep curtsy. 

“Please, don’t bow. I hate it when people bow.” Slowly, you stood, arms clasped behind your back. 

“You have a beautiful voice, my lady.”

“I am no lady, Your Majesty.” 

The High King frowned ever so slightly. “And humble as well.” 

“Your Majesty-” 

“I’ll leave you to your singing…” He trailed off, arms flailing as he gestured to the kitchen. “And baking.”

You nodded. “Have a good morning, Your Majesty.”

“My name is Peter. Formalities are so pretentious, don’t you agree?” 

“I don’t know if I should have an opinion on that matter…” A small smile graced your lips. In that very moment, Peter vowed to try and make you smile as often as possible. “But I suppose so.”  

It seemed as if his voice no longer worked, gawking ever so slightly as you curiously stared back at him. Panicking, he darted back through the door he’d fallen through. 

The dining room had already dove into a quiet chaos, his siblings all shouting quick words of greeting, food already on their plates. 

Even with the hectic nature around him, Peter felt as if he was walking on clouds. “Morning, Lu.”

“Pete.” She grinned. “You look oddly bright today. Cheery even.”

Susan laughed. “What an odd thing to say.”

“I’m not wrong. He looks all dazed and… giggly.” 

“Giggly?” Edmund’s brow raised, a horrible smirk on his lips. “King Peter the Magnificent looks giggly?”

“Well, how would you describe him, Ed?”

“He’s not even paying attention to us. Look at him.” Peter was now smiling at his muffin, dead to the world around him. “Dear lord, something’s happened.”

Lucy laughed. “He met a girl. I can feel it.”

“Let’s not talk about him like he’s not even there.”

Peter hummed, setting the pastry down on his plate. “I may be ‘dazed’, but that does not mean I can’t hear.”

Lucy tilted her head. “So you do not deny you are dazed?”

You liked working in the castle. You liked how the staff were treated with respect and even admiration, and how, if one of the maids or butlers became ill, they had time to recover. You loved that even though every one of you was a servant, the royals never truly treated you like it. Since you’d begun your employment, you’d been invited to eat with them at every major holiday, every birthday gala, and every other major event Queen Susan threw. 

You loved all of that, but there was one benefit that defeated them all.

The library. Cair Paravel’s library was by far the best in the kingdom. Having taught yourself to read at an early age, you grew an affinity young, sneaking away whenever you had the chance. The giant oak doors creaked as you pushed them open, the smell of the parchment immediately flooding your senses. Climbing the rolling ladder, you made your way around half the room until you found your new captivating read.

You’d almost made it safely down the ladder when disaster struck. “We meet again, my lady.” The voice caused your heart to skip, your mind to panic, and your balance to falter. Tripping over your own foot, you fell backward, eyes squeezed shut as you prepared for impact. Only it never came, two strong arms wrapped around you.

“Are you quite alright?” 

You froze, rigid as realization clouded your mind. “Your Majesty!” Pulling yourself free of his hold, you sank into a low curtsy. “I cannot begin to-” 

“Please, don’t apologize.” His eyes fell to your hands, smiling at the sight. “You have great taste.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” You stood, tilting your head to the side. You always thought the royals had been too busy to enjoy the library. “Lord, what fools these mortals be.”  

“Stand aside. The noise they make will cause Demetrius to awake.” 

He laughed, the sound causing your insides to twist horribly. “I see you’ve enjoyed the library.” 

“Very much so, Your Majesty.” 

“I swear I’ve asked you to call me Peter.” His eyes lit up, and if you were any braver, you would have scolded him for teasing you.

“Peter.” You opted for a strong glare in his direction. “Do you often have time to read?”

“Not so much anymore.” He frowned. “It seems as the years go on, the time I spend in here dwindles.” 

You frowned along with him. “I’m sorry.” 

“It is not your fault.” He laughed. “The kingdom never rests.” 

“And neither do you, it seems.” Your eyes widened. “That was uncalled for. I- I should be going-”

“Please, don’t.” He stepped forward, as if he was prepared to stop you. “It’s funny. We keep finding each other. Just a fortnight ago-”

“You should have never heard-”

“My mother did the same thing.” A distant look settled in his beautifully blue eyes. “Sing as she cooked. It distracted her from whatever worries she had, and her food was perfection.” He sighed. “Perhaps that is why the food here is so magnificent.” 

Your cheeks felt hot, laughing to distract from the butterflies fluttering around in your stomach. “I’m only the breakfast baker.”

“Interesting.” He smiled. “Breakfast is my favorite meal.”

You were going to combust, you were sure of it. “May I ask why you’re in the library? I thought you had meetings at this time of day?”

He smirked. “You keep track of my schedule?”

You sputtered. “No, I take care of your sister; she talks of you.”

His eyebrows scrunched. “Lucy?”

“Susan.”

He nodded. “Ah. Well, Yes. I normally have a meeting around this time. But I’m rebelling. My chief of staff is pestering me about marriage, and alliances, and I feel-”

“You feel like there are more important things to deal with.”

He tilted his head. “Are you a witch?”

You stopped breathing; the question, odd in nature, seemed to come from nowhere. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s just…” He stepped closer, eyes scanning your face curiously. “I was thinking that exact thing.”

“I’ve cared for your sister for years. She is quite worrisome, and I can only assume she gets that trait from you.”

He scoffed as if you hadn’t just seen into his very soul. “Worrisome?”

“I only meant that she thinks too much. It is a great quality to possess, in small quantities, my lord. Your sister… may be a bit anxious at times.”

He laughed loudly, clutching his heart. “A bit? Su’s the most anxious of us all!” 

You couldn’t help but giggle along with him, his laughter proving to be quite infectious. “She is quite pent up.”  

“She has this terrible need for everything to be perfect.” 

“Just the other day, we discussed what shade of blue was closest to the Silver Sea for the Sailor’s Luncheon. She wanted to know which tablecloth would remind them of their love for the ocean.” You held your stomach. “I’m convinced they were all the same color.”

Peter had never felt more entranced than he did in this moment. Your eyes glowed as you spoke, your laughter as stunning as the sun setting in the west. His own laughter grew as a result, his smile so wide it hurt his cheeks. 

“Your Majesty, there you are.” Mr.Tumnus’ dulcit tones echoed from the hall. Peter frowned as your laughter ceased, all remnants of humor falling from your face. “Mr.Alcotstrom is looking for you.”

Peter nodded. “I am aware. The lady and I were engaged in a riveting conversation.”

Mr. Tumnus smiled. If he sensed Peter’s annoyance, he did not show it. “And I’m sorry to interrupt you, but we both know how Alcotstrom gets when you run off.”

“Yes, yes. Tell him I’m coming, Tumnus.”

The faun nodded, smiling quickly toward you. “Wonderful to see you, Ms. Heywood.”

Peter waited until the faun had left the room to speak once more. “Your last name is Heywood?”

“It is-”

“I had a general with the same name.”

“My father.” 

It all made sense. General Haywood had told him of a daughter, one staying in the camps with him, who had only known a life of fear and ice, a life controlled by the White Witch. “Why are you working as a maid?”

“After he passed, it made sense to find work taking care of what he loved.” You grinned. “He loved this country, and the people who fought to free it from Jadis. It felt right to stay.”

“I’m sorry-”  

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“But you must know-” 

“Enough.” Your voice was tense, your smile fading. “I have chores to attend to, and you have Mr.Alcotstrom.” You curtsied quickly, spinning on your heel toward the door. 

“When will I see you again?” His voice was but a whisper, but it had startled you regardless. 

“I suspect soon, quite soon.” You looked over your shoulder. “We keep running into each other.” 

“Will you be at my birthday gala?” He sounded… eager? 

“If you wish it.” 

“I wish only that you want to be there, my lady.” 

Why did he have to be so devastatingly charming? “I would love to.” 

“Wonderful-” 

“But I do not have the proper gown.” When you said it out loud, your reasoning sounded frail, weak, as if you had thought of it on the spot. “It would not be wise to attend such an elaborate event in… well,” You gestured to your issued work gown. “This.”

It was truly a wonder the hold you had on him. “I can assure you that anything you arrive in will be more than adequate.” 

“That is very kind-” “It is the truth.” 

“Peter.” You laughed at the hilarity of it all. The High King was complimenting you. Peter was complimenting you. “You flatter me.” 

“If that is the only reason you cannot attend-” 

“It is.” You interrupted. “I swear it is.”

“Then I will see you at the gala.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but knew it was not worth it. In the end, you would go. Not because of the decadent food or the lavish decor, but to simply see him. “I will see you then, my lord.” 

It was much too early for this- this incessant knocking. You groaned into your pillow, willing the bothersome noise to cease. 

It did not. 

Rolling out of your bed, you slipped your robe on, cracking the door open ever so slightly. “Good morning.” 

“Good morning.” The woman smiled. You recognized her as one of the seamstresses who made the Queen’s gowns. You’d brought alteration notes to her many times. “You are Lady Heywood, are you not?” 

Peter. “May I ask what this is about?” 

“I was told it was urgent.” You opened the door the rest of the way, jaw-dropping at the sight. A large white box sat in her arms. “I hope this meets your specifications.” 

“While I appreciate the offer, I never-” 

“The High King himself asked that this dress be made for you.” The woman had a horrible smirk on her lips, a teasing nature in her tone. “I do wonder-” 

“Thank you for the dress. I’m sure it will be wonderful.” You interrupted. “What is it-” 

“His birthday gala, I assume.” She was now grinning. “Shall I help you try it on?” 

“There’s really no need-”

“The ladies will be here to help you prepare in just a few hours.” 

Your mind was reeling, all this information too much to handle. “I- May I have a moment?” 

“Of course. I’ll be just down the hall.” 

“Thank you.” You’d waited until she left your sight to slam the door shut, staring in both awe and horror at the box in your arms. Setting it carefully on your bed, you peeled it open, eyes tearing up at the sight.

On top of possibly the most extravagant dress you’d ever seen sat a note, small and simple. His handwriting was polished, perfect in every way. Your hand shook as you opened it, a small gasp leaving your lips at its contents. 

Not with the eyes, but with the mind.

Clenching the note in your fist, you whipped around, stalking toward the High King’s quarters.

“I cannot accept your-” 

Peter tore his head up from his work, his cheeks immediately growing pink at the sight before him. There you stood, as radiant as ever, in your nightgown and robe, feet bare, hair wild from a restless night’s sleep. “My lady, you are-” 

“Peter-” You huffed, slamming the door shut behind you. “It is too much.” 

“It?” He raised an eyebrow. “I have no idea as to what ‘it’ you are referring to.” 

“Do not feign ignorance-” You stopped, squinting at the king. “Is there more?” 

“I beg your pardon?” “You said ‘what it.’ Are you implying there is more you have yet to gift me?” He looked much too smug as he replied. “I cannot reveal all my tricks.”

“You are too kind.” You scolded. “It will look inappropriate.”

“I do not understand.” 

“They will think I am some sort of-” You couldn’t even speak the word. “Some sort of-” 

Peter stood, arms crossed, as he watched you curiously. “You seem awfully concerned with how others perceive you.” 

“I am concerned for the both of us. It will look as if you are giving me special treatment, as if you and I are-” 

He hummed. “Yes?” 

“It is too extravagant.”

“You have still not told me the issue.” “Well, it’s fragile.” You frowned. “It’s improper to say-” 

He ignored the urge to point out that you had just burst into his room in your nightgown. “If that is all-” 

“If this is some sort of horrible way of embarrassing me or-” 

“Surely, you cannot think I would do that to you?” He looked positively betrayed. “I had that dress made because you told me of your predicament. I was merely remedying the situation.” 

“And that is all?” The note still clenched in your fist started to burn. “You have nothing more you wish to say?” He shook his head, and you frowned, nodding once before turning back toward the door. “Fine.” 

“Only-” He whispered, so softly you hadn’t heard him. The door slammed behind you, and his posture slumped, staring after you like a lost soul trapped in the River Styx. “Only that I find you positively entrancing when you are determined.”

Who were you to deny such a beautiful gift? 

That’s what you reminded yourself of for the entirety of the night whenever a new lady’s maid curled your hair, applied rouge, or tightened your corset so much you thought you would surely pass out. 

It felt nice to be pampered, to be the one treated so gently. Your days consisted of accidentally burning yourself from touching the pan, kneading bread, scrubbing the floors, and hemming the Queen’s gowns. 

You never paid any mind when those things happened; it was just how it had always been. And you still understood that you were a maid and nothing more- “My lady.” 

“Please don’t call me that.” You murmured. “You know that I am not a lady.” 

“Yes, miss.” The girl nodded. “We’ve finished.” She placed your slippers before you, wrapped in luxurious green silk. “My lady-” You smiled at the title, and the girl winced. “I only meant- It’s just- you look like a Princess.”

Which brought you back to now, nervously clenching your fists as you waited to walk down the grand golden stairs. Many a young lady stood at the top, proudly jutting their chins when their names were announced. 

You wished you’d thought of entering through the servants' door. 

“The Lady Heywood.” 

Aslan, that was you. Stepping forward, the front of your skirt lifted ever so slightly, carefully placing one foot in front of the other. Not many looked, thankfully. You were not from an affluent family, not a trader’s daughter or a diplomat’s niece. 

You were simply a maid. 

“My lady.” Somehow, Peter did not understand that sentiment. There he stood, handsome as ever, at the bottom of the steps, his hand extended. “You’re here.” 

You couldn’t help but smile, delicately placing your hand in his. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” You didn’t want to elaborate, nor did you need to. He knew, and he smiled, eyes sparkling ever so slightly. “Happy Birthday.” 

“Technically speaking,” He whispered as he led you through the crowd. “My birthday is tomorrow.” 

“Oh.” You giggled. “So this is all a ruse then.” 

“Exactly.” He laughed along with you. “We all lie, the four of us. The day after our birthdays, we laze about, go on rides, swim in the enchanted lake.” A far-off look grew on his face. “It is quite-” 

“Peaceful.” 

He stopped, looking over as if you’d shocked him to his very core. “Yes. Peaceful.” He let go of your hand, much to your chagrin, to nab two flutes of champagne. You’d almost refused to let go. Almost. “Are you quite certain you are not a witch?” 

“Very, my lord.” You took a quaint sip, staring at him curiously. “You know that you’ve asked me this before.” 

“I have.” He didn’t even try to deny it. “It’s just-” 

“Yes?” You raised a brow. 

“You have this ever so captivating-” 

“Peter!” 

The High King did nothing to hide the annoyance on his face, turning toward his brother as if it were some chore he wished not to do. “Edmund.” 

“Susan is asking for you.” 

“I’m in the middle of a conversation, dear brother.” You took another long sip of your champagne, trying not to seem eager at his very apparent need to stay with you. “The lady and I-” 

“I’m sure you were being quite witty-” Edmund peeked over his brother’s shoulder, smiling quickly. “And I am truly sorry, my lady, but it is urgent business.” 

“Well, if it is urgent-” Your heart clenched ever so slightly, a small, polite smile gracing your lips. “Your Majesties.” 

“Lady Heywood,” Peter mumbled. “There is no need to-” 

“It will only be a moment, Peter.” Edmund practically grumbled. “Aslan, you are quite worrisome tonight. Relax, it is your birthday.” 

“Technically-” It had slipped out before you could stop yourself. “Tomorrow is the king’s birthday.” 

It seemed that the Just King didn’t know whether to laugh or scoff. Peter, however, looked proud. “She’s right, you know.” 

“Will you just-” Edmund grabbed his brother’s arm, pulling him away before he could spout out more excuses. 

“I’ll be on the terrace.” You’d barely spoken, but he had seen, smiling brightly as ever.

A horrible chill ran through the air, goosebumps forming on your delicate skin. You shivered, rubbing your arms as if that would solve your issue. 

“Are you cold?” 

“Hardly.” You whispered, almost laughing at how your teeth began to chatter, betraying your words. 

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” Peter leaned his back against the railing, gazing at you curiously. “I would hate to think you have.” 

“I could never lie to you.” You hadn’t meant it to sound so grave, but you stood by it nonetheless. “I’d be executed.” 

He scoffed, laughing lightly. “You have such a grave sense of humor, my lady.” He stood straight, shrugging his cape off his shoulders. “Have you enjoyed the festivities?”

“I have.” Your cheeks felt warm. Perhaps you had begun to exhibit symptoms of hypothermia, or perhaps it was because Peter’s lips were a mere breath away, draping his cape over your own shoulders. “People will talk, you know.” 

“Let them.” He huffed. “People pry into my business much too often.” 

“I’m sure.” You pulled the cape closer to you, fighting to urge to fall prisoner to its comfort. You turned around, staring into the ballroom full of aristocrats. “What do you suppose they are whispering about right now?” 

“In this very moment?” 

You hummed, nodding.

“Well, I suppose…” You hadn’t noticed how his gaze fell to you, or how his pupils dilated ever so slightly. You hadn’t noticed how his voice grew breathy, and cheeks flushed, much too pink to be from the cold. “They are whispering about how beautiful you look in this light.” 

You dared to look up, heart skipping a beat. “Peter-”

“You’ve said my name.”

“We cannot-” 

“Do you know what I wished for? For my birthday?” 

You glared. “To stop interrupting me?”

He laughed, shaking his head lightly. “Not exactly. Although it did involve you.” 

“Well…” You suddenly felt too hot under his cape. “Now you must tell me.” 

“I cannot.” His eyes flickered to your lips. “Or my wish will not come true.” 

“Surely you can make an exception.” Your lids lulled, his spell captivating you, his gaze trapping you to stay so very still. “Just this once.” 

“I cannot.” He smirked. “Perhaps, my lady, it would be best to show you.”

“Well-” You dared to step closer, your breaths now mingling in the cold night. “If you must.”

His arm snuck around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Do you trust me?”

“Implicitly.”

He grinned, grabbing your hand in his. “There is a secret stairway.” 

Not exactly the surprise you were expecting. “I’m sorry?” 

He tapped the railing three times, and sure enough, a stairway appeared, away from the prying eyes that begged to catch a glimpse of the High King. “My lord?” You whispered. “Where are we-”

He practically pulled you down the stairs. “One moment.” 

“Perhaps we should- oomph!” In one fell swoop, he had spun you around, pressed you against the wall, and smashed his lips against yours. “Peter-” 

“You.” He kissed across your jaw, voice raspy. “I wished for you.” 

“You’ve ruined your wish.” 

He shook his head, his lashes tickling your skin as he continued his ascent. “I-” Another kiss down your neck. “Don’t.” And another. “Think I have.”

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