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Prince—no, King Caspian was in love with his sister.
There was no sugar-coating it, no mistaking his intentions for anything but what they were. With gifts he wooed her: with clothes, with jewels, with poetry and promises. Each morning he was forced to look on as their romance budded and bloomed just a little bit more. Roses opened for them, birds sang for them, and Narnia waited with bated breath for news of their inevitable engagement. They suited each other perfectly.
And, yet, they were all wrong for each other.
Peter wanted to scream, to shout—to tell everyone it was all a mistake (such a terrible mistake!), but who would listen? Everyone knows the hero of the story always gets the fair maiden in the end. And so, if his smile was a little strained, his eyes a little bright, his words of blessing upon their future together a little curt—well, he was the overprotective big brother: he was supposed to be the stubbornly resistant one, now wasn't he?
No one could ever know that it was not Caspian he resented, but Susan.