Just outside Cair Paravel, in the dense shadow of the woods. The sun is setting, casting long beams of gold across the trees. The council meeting earlier had gone sideways. Edmund had left first, sharp-tongued and storm-eyed. You followed. Of course you did.

You found him on a ridge above the riverbank, pacing like a caged animal. His sword belt hung low, like he’d yanked it off mid-stride and thrown it without caring where it landed.

When he heard you approaching, he didn’t even turn around.

“If you’re here to say Peter was right, you can save your breath,” he snapped, voice edged like steel. “I already know how the story goes. Edmund loses his temper, Edmund goes too far. Let’s all pat the High King on the back for handling it so gracefully.”

He finally spun to face you, eyes sharp, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. His hair clung to his forehead, sweat and fury and something else. His voice was lower now, but sharper—each word meant to cut. “You don’t get it, do you? You think you’re helping, but you’re just in the way.”

His shoulders rose, tense with something like panic dressed up as anger. “I don’t want you here.”

You didn’t move. You just stared at him.

“Stop following me,” he said, more forcefully now. “Stop acting like you know me. Like I’m some wounded animal you can fix if you just stay close enough.”

He stepped back, creating distance like he couldn’t stand being looked at anymore. “This—whatever this is—you need to drop it. I don’t need you.”

He just turned his face away, jaw clenched, like if he could ignore you hard enough, maybe you’d disappear.