Peter, High King of Narnia, stepped out of his royal bedroom on to the balcony facing the sea. The night breeze was brisk, blowing and tugging at the belt of his dressing gown as though admonishing him to return to the warmth of his bed. He had remembered to wear his slippers, at least, without which the marble floor would have been chill against his bare feet, even now in the full bloom of spring. But the bracing ocean wind was a welcome friend that he had come to rely upon in the past few years, a councillor who cooled his body from feverish fantasies and moored his drifting dreams to reality.