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PETER WOULD argue that he'd had the most difficult time adjusting back to what most people called "the real world." Susan had done the best out of all of them followed by Lucy and Edmund— at least according to him. He supported his case by adding that at least Edmund had (almost) been around his soulmate during their entire time in Narnia and it wasn't like Lucy could leave her soulplace. On the other hand, he'd been the High King— a person with responsibilities and duties that surpassed his siblings. As much as he'd wanted to, he hadn't been able to be around Acacia every waking second.
It had been these thoughts that had fueled his bitterness in the "real world," encouraging him to seek out fights any chance he got. To top it all off, everyone had treated him as if he didn't have a brain. He hadn't noticed it before but now he realized what little say children actually had. It was infuriating.
At least they were back in Narnia; Edmund had Cornelia and Lucy had her country. Even Susan seemed to be acting less... Susan-y. He was still without his soulmate. And now it seemed like there was the possibility of them never meeting again— ruins didn't exactly foretell good news. (Especially not with Lucy's revelation.) He couldn't even feel anything which proved his point.
"Catapults," Edmund announced softly as he bent to inspect a fallen boulder, "this didn't just happen. Cair Paravel was attacked."
"It must have been vulnerable when we left," Cornelia added quietly, "but we didn't really have any enemies, did we?"
"Maybe it was Rabadash?" Susan suggested, "we fought him right before the White Stag."
"Aslan cursed him, remember?" Lucy said, "he couldn't leave the ten-mile radius without turning into a donkey permanently."
Peter's attention wandered, their theories not boding well for his soulmate. His gaze caught on a half-hidden door that stood behind— his heart sank. Of course. Where else would there be an Acacia bush blooming?
Ignoring their conversation, he made for the stronghold and stopped in front of it. His fingers delicately traced the yellow blossoms (a painful reminder of the similar beautiful bloom he'd seen Acacia produce during the spring months) and studied the entrance. His siblings joined him seconds later and, with Edmund's help, they were able to push back the protective wall to reveal the wooden door behind it. He broke the lock from the rotting wood and tossed it aside, opening the door to reveal an inky-black stairwell. Thinking quickly, he tore off a strip of his shirt and wrapped it around a nearby stick, "I don't suppose you have any matches, do you?"
