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The True History of King Caspian and the Furry Devil

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The day Caspian first opened the door to their private chambers to find his husband cuddling a handful of fluff against his chest, he couldn't help but smile at such an endearing sight.

He would realize his folly soon enough.

“You've found a little friend, I see,” he greeted, and leaned in for a kiss – only to pull back with a pained yelp, hand flying to his neck in baffled astonishment. “That little monster bit me!” And, later, he wouldn't be able to say what bothered him more: Peter's unsympathetic glare or the monster's deceptively innocent purr as she allowed herself to be soothed in his husband's arms.

“She's not a monster! She's just a kitten – and you frightened her!”

The kitten mewled piteously, blue eyes glimmering in challenge, and Caspian gritted his teeth in frustration.

So began the war between man and beast – the odds of which were unfairly stacked against the poor, unsuspecting king. When the unrepentant fuzzball shredded Caspian's favorite tunic, he was scolded for not closing the dresser drawers tight enough. When she coughed up a hairball in his shoes, he was accused of being callous in light of the beast's obvious illness. And when it came to all the dozens of times she leaped out from the shadows with a ferocious yawl – tripping him, scratching him, biting him – she was only playing.

And then there was the little fact that the bugger was as territorial as heck – especially where Peter was involved. “Not only is the damned thing trying to kill me,” he would complain loudly, “but she's trying to steal my husband as well.”

To this, Peter could only gap incredulously: “Are you jealous of a kitten?”

A kitten? “That thing,” Caspian would declare resolutely, “is a furry devil!”

Yet, somehow, whenever Peter retired late, he always returned to find Caspian had dozed off on the couch, a certain feline curled blissfully against his chest, lulled to sleep by a steady heartbeat and gentle fingers combing through her fur – but her sleep was not so deep that she would not hiss warningly should Peter draw too near. “And you think you have competition,” Peter would sigh wryly, carefully tossing a blanket over his lover's form. “Don't you know that it's in the nature of love to torment the ones we like best?”

Aslan only knew why it was so easy to love that Telemarine brat!