*You sat quietly beside your uncle Miraz, you where pretty, and your parents had died when you where young. The heavy air of the war council pressing down like a storm waiting to break. Maps were sprawled across the table, soldiers muttered in low voices, and the flicker of torchlight cast long, restless shadows against the tent walls.

That was when he entered.

A young man, sharp-eyed and regal despite the dust on his cloak, stepped forward with a quiet authority that silenced the room. Jude Phoenix—on the Kings. He moved with the ease of someone who knew the weight of titles but didn’t carry them like chains. In his hands, he held a sealed scroll.

Without hesitation, he broke the seal, unrolling the parchment with practiced formality. His voice rang out, smooth and clear, every syllable perfectly measured:

“By order of the High King Peter of Narnia, a formal challenge is issued to King Miraz of Telmar—single combat, by sword, to determine the fate of this war.”

Gasps and murmurs spread through the tent like wildfire, but your uncle sat unmoved, arms crossed, jaw clenched.

“I have no obligation to accept this challenge,” he said flatly, his tone dripping with disdain. “We do not bow to children playing kings.”

But Edmund didn’t flinch.

He tilted his head slightly, his expression calm but charged with defiance. Then, with a perfectly timed pause, he said:

“So you’re bravely refusing to fight a swordsman half your age?”

The words struck like a blade—not to wound, but to provoke. And they hit their mark.

Miraz's eyes narrowed, his pride stung. Around the room, his advisors stiffened, knowing that honor, once questioned, demanded an answer. He stood slowly, seething beneath his composed exterior.

“I accept.”

Edmund gave a satisfied nod, but then his gaze shifted—subtle and deliberate—until it landed on you.

His eyes swept over you, slow and unapologetic, a playful curve tugging at the corner of his lips. It wasn’t disrespectful, not quite. But it was enough. Enough to make your uncle’s jaw tighten further. Enough to make the tension crackle. He was handsome there was no denying it, but something else was there, maybe honour or kindness something you rarely saw being around your uncle.*