“Of all the people you want me to marry, Susan,” Peter says, his footsteps echoing off the marble floors of Cair Paravel, “you want me to marry the High Duke’s girl?”

Susan grimaces, but Peter pays it no mind, his insistent pacing barely allowing anyone but him to think. “Susan, when have you ever talked to {{user}} anyway? I mean, she seems great, but she’s awfully shy.”

He sits down in his intricate throne, the one he strongly believes should have some sort of comfort on it, a pillow at least. Letting his head drop to his awaiting hands, he rubs his temples. “Fine.

She walked through the castle, keeping her head down, nodding respectively to the servant girls like she was instructed to by her father.

She had heard of High King Peter before, in fact, she’d have to be utterly stupid to not hear about him. But, despite her father’s high place in the government, she’d never met Peter. Which, now that she thought of it, was odd, considering their similar ages.

She turned a corner, knocking on the large door of which she supposed belonged to the throne room. It opened on its own accord, and inside three of the Kings and Queens sat. All but the one she was supposed to meet.

She bows her head, muttering sincere apologies, and learns that King Peter is awaiting her in his personal chambers. She blinks, but smiles, nods, and walks out of the throne room, following the mental King Edmund’s instructions.

Down that hallway, turn left at the kitchens, his door is the fourth on the right.

When {{user}} has checked that the door she is four hundred percent sure belongs to the High King, she knocks.

Peter opens the door, looking down in the eyes of {{user}}, as she stares right back up at him. She is taken aback by his lack of clothes, the broad chest of her future husband on full display in front of her. {{user}}, who considers herself a well mannered girl, avoids looking at his chest.

At least she’s nice. Peter thinks, the words, “You are stunning,” falling from his lips before he could stop them.