Edmund snarled in frustration, hurling a dagger at the wall of carved wooden paneling across from his desk. It landed with a satisfying thunk, and he got up to retrieve it, then threw it again. His skill was no match for Lucy’s, but it didn’t truly matter when he was only trying to cope with the piles of idiotic diplomatic missives on his desk.

Susan stuck her head around the door carefully, making sure that she was out of the line of Ed’s throwing before stepping into the room.

“What did that wall do to you?”

“Nothing,” Edmund snapped. “It is what the Tisroc’s ambassador is doing to me with his blatantly fawning, completely obfuscating reply to our trade proposals. It is what the Lone Islands treasurer is doing to me by losing their record of last year’s tax tribute to Narnia - which I have a copy of, of course, but now I have to spend time creating and sending him another one. And then there is Corin, and the endless merchant bills and swooning creatures he leaves in his wake every time he comes to Narnia!”

Thunk.

Susan eyed him. “I’ll bring you some of the Brown Bears’ honey mead. It will at least make writing the replies less painful.”

Edmund nodded appreciatively at her as he pulled the dagger out of the wall again. “Thank you. Hopefully I get through them before I am too drunk to hold my quill - or my tongue.”

Susan gave him a knowing smirk before disappearing, and Edmund put the dagger back in his boot. He walked back to his desk, running his hands through his hair with a sigh and sitting down again. He pulled a piece of parchment and his quill back toward him with a scowl.

“Most Honorable Ambassador of the Tisroc,” he began to write. “As per my last letter . . . “