Peter Pevensie

The sound of metal echoed through the courtyard. Peter lunged first, his blow precise, but you dodged it with a teasing smile.

—Is that all, Your Majesty? I thought the “great king” was a better fighter.

"Be careful what you say," he replied firmly, twisting the blade. "I can take you down in seconds."

— Then try.

Swords clashed again, sparks flying, anger pulsing. He pressed, you resisted. For a moment, their faces were close—short breaths, warring gazes.

— I hate you, — you whispered.

“The feeling is mutual,” he replied, before attacking again.