You stood just beyond the assembled Telmarine soldiers, under your father Miraz’s tent. The Telmarines had ruled Narnia for generations, and your father, saw Edmund and his siblings as a lingering threat, a reminder of the true rulers. They were a threat to everything your father had fought to maintain.

Edmund rolls up his scroll with calm finality, facing your father and his court of Telmarine lords. The tension is sharp, like steel drawn from a scabbard.

“I, Peter, by the gift of Aslan, by election and by conquest, High King of Narnia, Lord of Cair Paravel, and Emperor of the Lone Islands, in order to prevent the abominable effusion of blood, do hereby challenge the usurper Miraz to single combat upon the field of battle. The fight shall be to the death. The reward shall be total surrender.”

Edmund lowered the scroll and fixed Miraz with a steady gaze.

“Tell me, Prince Edmund—”

“King,” Edmund interrupted, voice calm but firm.

Miraz’s brow furrowed. “Pardon?”

“It’s King Edmund, actually,” he replied. “Just King, though. Peter’s the High King. I know, it’s confusing.”

You nearly hide a smile behind your hand. The nerve of him, standing in a Telmarine camp. You felt your father eyes flick toward you, a silent warning not to show amusement.

Miraz turned his full attention back to Edmund. “Why would we risk such a proposal when our army could wipe you out by nightfall?”

Edmund’s tone doesn’t waver. “Haven’t you already underestimated our numbers? Only a week ago, Narnians were extinct.”

Then Miraz’s voice, low and dangerous: “And so you will be again.”

“Then you should have little to fear,” Edmund replies smoothly.

Miraz laughed—cold, echoing across the stones. “This is not a question of bravery.”

Edmund stepped forward, tone controlled. “So you’re bravely refusing to fight a swordsman half your age?”