𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ━ edmund pevensie¹

Eight

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𝕲𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖊
𝖙𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖔𝖗𝖆𝖗𝖞 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖋𝖚𝖑𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘

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[summer, year 1008]

━━━━━━━Ｅｄｍｕｎｄ

UNLIKE CORNELIA, Edmund didn't hate council meetings— in his opinion, there was a worse evil: Susan's parties.

Crowds had always made him feel slightly claustrophobic and he didn't like the press of people, no matter what mood they were in. He loathed dancing and hated the hushed whispers and giggles that visiting ladies sent his way (though thankfully, in this regard, he wasn't high king— Peter had it far worse.) He wasn't even able to enjoy the treats that had been placed on the buffet table as he hadn't so much as touched a dessert since their coronation so many years ago (Lucy often teased him that this aided in his "sour" moods.)

As much as he could, he sat on his throne and watched the party goers from a afar, favoring not to mingle with the crowd as his siblings and even Cornelia liked to do. He supposed a part of that was because he still received wary glances though those had lessened over the years. Edmund preferred his space and chose to observe the partygoers.

His eyes were currently trained on the ash-blonde head of his soulmate who was in the middle of the crowd of dancers, her smile nearly blinding even from this distance across the room. A lord— or prince, he wasn't really sure— with sunny golden hair from the Southern Isles kept returning to her every time the dance ordered a change in partners. The dark-haired king slouched slightly in his throne (something that Susan would've scolded him for, had she not been entertaining a group of Archenlanders) and couldn't prevent the scowl that appeared on his face. Of course he didn't blame Cornelia for dancing— she liked it, he didn't— but he also couldn't help the resentful feelings he felt towards her dance partner.

"Feeling jealous, Ed?" Peter's voice sounded from above him, causing him to turn.

"No, of course not," he tried to sound unaffected— he wasn't— "Nelly's just a friend, she can dance with whoever she wants."

"Yes, and I'm Aslan," his brother retorted, leaning an arm against the top of the throne.

"I think that's blasphemy."

"Perhaps you should ask her to dance," the blond suggested.

"Where's Acacia?" Edmund asked, changing the subject.

Peter gave him a pointed look— not at all fooled— but still answered, "she's dancing too. Unlike you, I was with her but I came to let you know your mood is spoiling Susan's party. You know what she's like the day after."

The dark-haired man grimaced, "duly noted but I'm still not dancing."

"Then at least get up and talk. The whole point of Susan's Unity Ball is, well, unity and you're being very solo."

With a grumble of complaint, Edmund pushed himself out of the chair and straightened the dressy silver tunic that he wore, "and Pete? Maybe stick to your own soulmate problems rather than butt into other people's."

As his brother began to walk away, the older man called after him, "at least we're faster than your glacial speed, Ed!"

He shot Peter a rather dark look— which only made him smile with amusement— before he descended the stairs and braced himself to navigate the crowded floor. Trying not to touch anyone, Edmund wove through the guests to reach the outskirts of the dancers who were finishing up the current set. As soon as the song ended, he made a beeline for Cornelia who was smiling politely at something the lord— or prince— was saying.