One dance turns into another and another until I'm sure we've been dancing for over an hour. For having never danced any Narnian dances, he's good. Better than I expected.

"You made me a promise." Peter says quietly as a new song begins.

"What promise was that?"

"That after the battle was won, you'd tell me about your past."

"I promised, did I?" I chuckle.

"I believe the deal was, if I stayed alive, you'd tell me."

"You really want to know all my dirty little secrets?" I laugh.

He raises a brow with a crooked half grin pulling at the right corner of his mouth. I take a misstep, but Peter's arms are strong around me, keeping me from falling.

"My mother was a Narnian, a naiad of the Eastern Sea, your sister's new domain."

"Naiad, different to a mermaid?" He asks earnestly.

I giggle, "Yes, very different, no tails for a start. Think dryad but in water."

"Ah, so you're not hiding a mermaid tail from me."

"No fishy surprises here." I laugh, "My mother was naturally curious, or so I'm told, and while Naiads have no tails, they can still swim like any ocean creature, especially sea Naiads. My mother could remain underwater for days before the hundred-year winter.

"The lakes froze over, and the sea became too treacherous. The Naiads had no choice but to live on land. Finally, my mother had enough, she journeyed to the sea right here below Cair Paraval and braved the storming ocean.

"She told me she swam for days, with nowhere to stop and no end in sight until the waters started to warm and the waves began to calm. She emerged from the waters to feel the sun on her face for the first time since her youth, and standing on the shoreline was my father.

"He had long been looking for a wife, a queen for his kingdom, and he took her emerging as a sign from the gods."

"So, your mother was born over one hundred years ago?" Peter asked slowly.

"Oh yes, some nymphs live close to three hundred years; my mother would be past one hundred and fifty now."

"And what of your father?"

"He was a very rare thing, born of a magic bloodline with powers they say were bestowed by the gods; my father was over two hundred years old when he wed my mother."

"What does that make you?"

"They called me a Corina, a sun-wielder, like my father."

"Sun-wielder," Peter mutters, "that's why you've been getting up to see the sunrise each morning, isn't it.'

"The connection I feel is strongest at dawn, midday and dusk."

"So your father was a...Corina...too?" Peter's mouth slips around the odd sounds of my native tongue the way my mother's used to.

"No," I laugh lightly, "My father was called a Corino. I was the only Corina in recorded history; the gift, to our knowledge, had never before been passed to a female child."

"Rare magic then."

"Rare indeed." I muse.

The song ends and we part, Peter bending into a bow and me curtsying.

"Here, let me show you something." I step closer to Peter.

We're in the middle of the dance floor, but we feel so alone like only we share this moment. I cup my hands together and blow a warm breath between my fingers. A spark crackles, and a perfect sphere of magic forms, golden and shimmering between my hands.

"Put out your hand." I instruct the King, who is looking at me with a bewildered expression.

I have to giggle slightly under my breath. He holds out one hand, his skin pale with fresh calluses still visible from the battle.

Slowly, gently, I open my hands, letting the tiny orb float just above his palm. I step back but never release control, shaping the light and keeping it alive.

"It's warm."

"I won't let it burn you."

"I know." Peter locks eyes with me.

His confidence makes my heart swell. Stepping back towards him, I cup my hands underneath his, still controlling the magic.

"Ready?"

"For what?"

I let the magic leap upwards, and tiny glowing orbs disperse around the room high above our heads. Peter shoots his eyeline upwards, and gasps fill the room. For a moment, terror grips my stomach as I'm sure the gasps are in fear.

Then Peter laughs, and the sound is as bright as any magic I could conjure, as bright as the sun itself. The room erupts into applause as all look up at the tiny lights I've hung.

"They're like stars."

"Stars are simply tiny suns," I laugh. "or at least I like to think so."

"You don't know how right you are," Peter grins, "they're beautiful, as are you."

I blush, and Peter extends a hand to me. I let myself be swept into another dance and the festivities wear well on into the night.