"What don’t you get?“ He asked, slipping his hand in hers as they passed through the halls.
"Why don’t we just go into your private library and have tea there? We could even find your special book.”
Peter smirked and squeezed her hand. “Sounds nice, but the book I’m looking for is in the west wing library. No one really goes there, so it hasn’t been touched yet.”
She shrugged and continued to walk with him. Peter slipped his keys from out his pocket. They jingled as he unlocked the door.
"My lady,“ he gestured for her to go in.
"Thank you, Your Majesty,” she curtseyed.
Peter grimaced; he knew what she meant by that joke.He had told to abandon formalities awhile ago. Now that they were courting, she would always do so to tease him.
He rolled his eyes. When he finally found his book, Peter sat on the couch.
(Y/n) walked around the room. “My goodness, it’s practically Christmas in here!” She gasped.
Peter wasn’t lying when he said no one’s been here in awhile. Christmas in July–literally. How funny, she thought.
The bookshelves were ornately embellished with green and red lace strips. The windows were decorated with bells and holly–well, most of them with holly.
Between a few bookshelves, (Y/n) saw mistletoe hanging from a string. Very clever. She rolled her eyes.
"(Y/n)!“ Peter called.
"Yeah, coming,” she mumbled, but went on searching the shelves.
"(Y/n), I thought we were going to drink some tea.“ Peter passed through the aisles until he found her.
"I thought you said this library was small,” she replied evenly. She brushed her fingers against the book spines as she walked.
"Well, it’s smaller than the other libraries.” Peter sighed. “(Y/n), come here! Please?“
(Y/n) turned and nearly ran into him. She glanced up before quickly stepping back from Peter.
He raised an eyebrow when she blushed.
She pointed upwards. Mistletoe was hanging above him.
He smirked, and she knew he was already formulating a plan. "Why don’t you give me a hug?” he spread his arms out.
"I think I’m fine.“
”(Y/n), look! A cookbook filled with delicious recipes!“ Peter pointed to the book next to him.
"Peter, according to my birth certificate, I wasn’t born yesterday.” (Y/n) crossed her arms. “You’re going to have to try better than that.”
He raised his arms in surrender. “You got me. I could always pull you closer, because I’m stronger,” he suggested. “But that wouldn’t be so gentlemanly, would it?”
"Eh, I’ll get you later.” Peter shrugged and began to walk away.
(Y/n) frowned; she felt a twinge of disappointment in her chest. Why had he given up so fast?
She walked forward until Peter forcefully held her shoulders and placed her underneath the mistletoe.
"Peter, it’s July! Don’t you think it’s ridiculous?“ She protested.
"Ridiculous, it may be, but if it’s another reason to kiss you, I’ll take it,” he chuckled. "Plus, Narnians take this very seriously.”
She smiled despite herself. (Y/n) kissed her fingers and pressed her fingers on his lips. “There,” she patted his shoulder. “I’m going to get some tea now. You want–” she was abruptly interrupted as Peter yanked her back.
Peter slipped his arms around her waist. He purposely gave her the puppy eyes, accompanied by the quivering lip.
(Y/n) laughed at him. How could she say no to such an adorable face? Well, she could, but (Y/n) decided not to…this one time.
She grabbed collar of his shirt, yanked him closer to her, and crashed her lips against his.
When they pulled apart, Peter’s lips curled into a smile. “Better.”
He straightened his collar. “You know, if you keep doing that, all of my collars will have wrinkles. Seriously, I have five or six shirts that have one wrinkle mark on each side.”
"Verry funny,” (Y/n) deadpanned.
"I’m kidding,” he grinned. He took her hands gently. “Even If it means having to unwrinkle my shirts every day,, it’s worth it as long as I see you.”
He wrapped his arm around her in an embrace.
(Y/n) looked around at the Christmas decorations once more. “You know, this is kind of strange,” she muttered. “But still sweet.”
“Kind of like you,” Peter nodded, earning him a slap upside the head.