Chapter 2 Content Warnings: alcohol use (under 21) and drunkenness.

Trigger Warning: implied sexual assault and scenes leading up to and after it, including drinking (this doesn't happen between the main couple). So as always, please mind the tags and, as always, don't read if it would adversely affect you! You can feasibly skip this chapter and still understand the rest of the story. Scenes 1-2 should be okay to read, though the alcohol use content warning still applies. The scene starting with "A splinter digs into her palm." is where you should skip if you want to read pieces of the chapter but not the whole thing.

Chapter 2: where did we go wrong?

Addie

"With the heel of your hand, Adelina! Stop gawking."

At the crack of Perla's spatula against the counter's edge, Addie jerks her eyes away from the window and back to the ball of dough in her hands. The whisper of a breeze tickles the wispy hair stuck to her forehead, but Addie ignores it. Perla's not known for her patience about the bread dough, and there's not a soul in the world who'd test her with that spatula within striking distance. Addie kneads until Perla grunts and the spatula disappears beyond her sight.

"Need more flour?" Lola appears at Addie's elbow, fingers hovering over the small mound left in the bowl.

When Addie lifts the dough from the wooden board, it leaves sticky scraps behind. "A bit, yeah," she says.

"Not too much, girls!"

Addie purses her lips against whatever ill-advised retort her tongue might cook up. Lola, ever the picture of doe-eyed patience, dusts the board to look like an autumn's first frost. Addie whispers her thanks and works until the dough is smooth and supple, softer than any fabric she'll ever wear. Softer than Mr. Flowers' shirt, too.

When she finishes pressing the dough into two neat spheres and scores the top with an eight-point star, the usual bustle of the courtyard snaps up to a crescendo. Addie has enough sense to get the bread to their baking slab, but she stretches by the window the second Lola's hands settle the loaves over the fire. Unfortunately, there's no breeze.

Out in the courtyard, a chorus of muted fanfare and greetings rises around two figures. The first is tall with a sharp black beard, a dark blue coat, and the long strides of a man inflated with his own importance - Lord Miraz, if she's remembering his face right. At his side is a younger man, one with long dark hair brushing his shoulders, a vest of armour, and a clean-shaven face with a kind mouth - it's Mr. Flowers.

Addie's grip on the counter falters only for a moment. So Marcos was right; definitely someone important, at least enough to be walking personally with Lord Miraz. She wracks her brain for his face, but she can't quite place it. She knows him from somewhere. Lord Sopespian's son? He's one of the quieter lords as far as kitchen complaints go. It's possible he'd have a pretentious son wrapped in whatever manners the nobles drum into each other. And Lord Sopespian has a reputation for slithering around, showing up in places he shouldn't; it stands to reason his son might be a sneaker too. Must run in the family.

Perla's spatula bangs on the counter across the kitchen. Addie shakes off the scowl curling at the corners of her mouth and turns to the next bowl of dough, risen so high it nearly spills over the top. After a healthy dusting of flour on her board, Addie dumps it and starts on the next two loaves. Mr. Flowers got her in trouble once; never again. If she's getting in trouble, it may as well be her own doing.

After the dinner rush, the mood lightens as they start cleaning. Perla's spatula retires to its resting spot where the countertop meets the pantry after all the food is out the door. Claudia and Lola disappear across the courtyard to distribute the leftovers to any beggars at the side door, as usual. By the time they're back, Addie and Anna only need to fill the water jugs, wipe down the counters, and rake the hearth.

"Finish up, girls. No bread-making tomorrow, so two of you will be at market fetching pepper, thyme, and twenty pounds of parsnips. Wrestle for it if you like." Perla blusters out of the kitchen so quickly the air in her wake stirs the dying fire, sending stark shadows dancing up the walls.

The moment her footsteps fade across the courtyard, Lola checks the water jugs. "I'll just go refill these," she chirps, far more cheerful than anyone should be after a full day's work in the sweltering kitchen heat.

"Oh, off to see your guard?" Claudia asks.

Addie wipes the last corner under the window and catches Lola's sheepish smile as she makes for the door with an empty water jug hugged tight to her chest. "I don't suppose he has a name to go with those dark curls?"

The jug muffles Lola's reply, but her protests of not having known him very long is unconvincing at best. Addie takes up another of the empty jugs and joins Lola outside, greedily sucking in the fresh air. Two sets of footsteps echo behind. Two strides later, Addie has Claudia at her right elbow and Lola, face ducked against the jug, on her left.

"Sun's in your cheeks," says Claudia. Addie leans back so Lola can get the full force of Claudia's quirked eyebrow and fiendish half-smile.

With the well steps under their feet, Lola sets down her jug. "That's impossible. The sun's set already," she insists before tucking her bottom lip into her mouth.

"Yet you wear it so well," Addie says. "That's a lucky man you've got." She waits for Lola to drop the bucket down the well and the telltale splash before taking hold of the rope. "Do we get to meet him?"

Anna hums from Lola's other side as she brushes a flour-dusted curl from her forehead. "We'd like to, you know."

"After all, we've got to make sure he's a good one," chimes Claudia as she tugs on the rope with Addie. "He is, isn't he?"

Before Lola can answer, Addie bumps Lola's hip. "Has he complimented your cheeks yet?"

"Since it's you asking, Addie, I'm not sure which you mean." Lola reaches for the full well bucket dangling just in reach with her chin set high, but her laugh breaks out as soon as Addie catches her eye.

Addie's mouth flaps twice before she finds her words amid Claudia's bursts of laughter. "I'm not that bad!"

"Yes, you are!"

With three very convincing pairs of eyes staring her down, now Addie's the one with warm cheeks as red as a sunset. It's hardly fair; she only jokes so crudely with Marcos. At least, she thought she did.

Addie sniffs and tries for a convincing huff, like a court lady might use on an exasperating husband. "Well, someone has to think of it!"

"Indeed," answers Lola amid the splashing as she fills her jug. "Thankfully, you do it enough for all four of us."

Addie laughs with them and sends the bucket careening back down the well. As she's tugging it up again, Claudia rests an elbow on Addie's shoulders and peers at Lola again.

"You know, it makes sense you'd meet him at the well."

"Oh?" Lola sits prettily on the well's edge, apparently unconcerned with getting her skirts wet.

Claudia grins conspiratorially as she steadies the rope so the bucket won't splash. "It's a kissing well."

"Oh, stop that," says Anna, turning away so the moonlight glances off the curve of her shoulders. "It certainly isn't."

"It is!" Claudia insists. "All wells are, where I come from."

Lola tips the bucket into her jug again, stopping just before it overflows. "Ah, but this isn't Ettinsmoor."

Addie accepts the bucket back and in it goes again, splashing back down into the darkness. "Go on, Claudia. I'm sure Lola wouldn't mind a good kissing, or a good well, or a well for good kissing."

Lola's light smack on Addie's arm only wins her a wink and an impressive pucker of Addie's lips. Claudia takes over the rope before Addie can start pulling and glances up at the sky, off to the north like she sometimes does when she talks about her family.

"It's a tradition in my village. When you've got a sweetheart, you both take some seeds, a handful or so, and toss them down into the well to make your love grow. And bring prosperity; we all need more of that."

Addie almost rolls her eyes at the first bit, but the odd lilt in Claudia's tone halts the humour before it escapes. Claudia covers it with a wide smile, but not enough to hide the shadows overtaking her eyes. When Addie glances back to Anna, she's quiet too.

Lola stills, her joviality settling into something quieter. "What kind of seeds?"

Claudia shrugs one shoulder and gives one last pull to bring the bucket within Addie's reach. "Any kind, really. As long as they're alive, preferably young. Like you two."

Addie meets Anna's gaze again. "We can find some at market tomorrow," Addie says. "Perla's sending us anyway."

"I'll hold you to that," Lola says. She wraps her arms around the jug and starts back toward the kitchen and the still-smouldering hearth. Addie takes turns pulling up buckets with Anna and Claudia until their three jugs are full too. They find the hearth dark and well-raked, the heat from the day already bleeding out into the night. Just one more jug, and then they're done. Addie takes the last jug out to the well and fills it as fast as she can. It'd go quicker if she pulled the bucket up slower so the water wouldn't spill so much, but it's getting late and her arms aren't cooperating as well as she'd like, anyway. It takes three bucket hauls to fill the last jug.

No sooner has Addie hoisted it up to rest at her hip than laughter echoes in from a nearby hallway, muffled by thick double doors. Addie hesitates, and sure enough, a small posse of soldiers spills out into the courtyard. Of the half dozen, three weave precariously across the cobblestones, kept upright only by their friends. And though the others aren't exactly the picture of steadiness either, they're managing to travel in a coherent direction. Somewhat.

Addie shakes her head and throws one hand up in a haphazard wave as she balances the full jug on her hip.

"Told you they'd still be here!"

Addie bites back a smile. She should've known Marcos would be involved. He's been tippled around her a few times, and he doesn't seem to suffer from headaches after a night of revelry. He's louder like this, and his mood is always contagious.

"Almost missed us," Addie calls back. She tries, unsuccessfully, to clamp her lips into a straight line; hardly a moment later, her chuckle seeps past. "What's tonight's excuse, gentlemen?"

The group splits down the middle to reveal the same guard with floppy dark curls and a soft jaw that Addie's caught with Lola by the well. His cheeks are rosy even through his tan as he holds up a brown pouch slightly smaller than his palm. He should smile like this more often, with the reckless abandon of a smitten man about to risk it all. It lights up those gold-tinged eyes of his wonderfully.

Addie casually turns towards the kitchen. "Lola, you've a guest."

"It sounds like more than one," Anna calls, bright but tense. She's not fond of anyone when they've had a drink or two or four.

"Six, to be exact," Addie says, the hooting group trailing her into the kitchen. "Looks like they're escorting Lola's sweetheart."

"Alfonso's here?" Lola nearly drops the rake. Even in the dim moonlight, her flushed cheeks glow as bright as coals.

"So that's his name," says Claudia, winking as she takes the rake and runs one last track before leaning it against the wall with the other fire tools. "He sounds cute."

"Absolutely precious," Addie agrees.

"What's precious, ladies?" Marcos leans against the doorframe with a fool's grin and a fellow soldier braced against his shoulder.

Claudia scoffs through her grin. "All you charming brawlers. Now what's all this?"

Marcos reaches back and shoves Alfonso into the light by the kitchen door in all his red-eared glory. "Fulfilling a tradition, of course!"

The sloshed group chants something unintelligible, laughing too much to make sense to anyone but themselves. Alfonso lurches forward too quickly for it to be his own doing.

"There's a tradition in Ettinsmoor," Alfonso begins.

Lola rushes to him, cap in hand and dark hair flowing freely in a curtain behind her. She's blessed with unusually thick, silky hair, especially considering the maids' harsh soap.

"The one with the seeds?" Lola stops with her hands still outstretched, suddenly keenly aware of their audience.

Addie shakes her head. Honestly, it's not as if everyone don't know they're sweet on each other. The attempt at propriety when they've snuck off to each other at every opportunity is rather silly. If they're together, they may as well enjoy it.

Alfonso blinks. "You know - yes, that's the one."

A smile that dopey would be nauseating between any other people. But on Alfonso, with his mop of boyish curls and hint of stubble and eyes completely focused on Lola, it's almost endearing.

"Go on then!" cheer the guards, some more coherently than others. If Addie hadn't seen Marcos out of his armour so often, it'd feel strange seeing everyone else dressed down too.

Better than a noble in an embroidered shirt. This rabble won't end with a spatula-shaped bruise on her hand.

The soldiers clear a path down the middle of the group, their raucous cheering echoing in the kitchen's confined space. It's more fun when Lola and Alfonso pass through into the courtyard and the laughter follows them, spreading easily through the night air. Claudia follows them with a skip in her step, but when Addie turns to join them, Anna's not beside her. Addie glances back.

"Go ahead. I'm turning in early." Anna wipes the countertops for the second time that night, not meeting Addie's eye even when Addie asks if she's okay. "Bit too loud for me, that's all. You go have fun."

Anna's not one for loud gatherings, that's true, but she's cleaning with the quick, furious swipes Addie uses when she's trying not to think about something. Usually a nightmare.

"Addie, c'mon!" Marcos breaks away from the group and reaches for her, but Addie lingers in the doorway a moment longer.

"We shouldn't be long," Addie murmurs. "I can walk you to the room first."

Anna finishes her sweep of the farthest counter, but she pauses as she shakes out the rag. Her dark eyes find Addie's just as Marcos' hand curls around Addie's wrist.

"Go have fun," Anna repeats. "Carefully." Her smile turns brittle and pinched at the corners.

Addie nods as Marcos tugs her away. Anna never likes walking alone, but if she's fine with it tonight, Addie won't argue. Anna's always asked for company when she needs it.

Marcos' arm lands heavily at her waist, as it does when he's had a few drinks. Addie steals his half-empty flask and purposely trods over his foot as they rejoin the group, though it only gets her a raspy chuckle.

Alfonso tugs open the small pouch, staring down at Lola's palm as the seeds sprinkle out as if they hold some all-important answer of the world. His brow furrows as he tips the other half into his own hand, his fingers curling over them immediately for fear of spilling them. Probably a valid concern, if he's half as gone as the rest of them. Addie gulps two burning mouthfuls from Marcos' flask; she needs to catch up.

She claps along with the rhythm Claudia starts, though it quickly turns messy thanks to the other guards. Even Marcos, musically-minded as he is, can't stay on beat. But Lola and Alfonso don't seem to mind; they're too busy staring into each other's eyes and leaning in like they can't stand even such a scant distance. Alfonso isn't so bashful with the seeds poured and the two of them too lost in each other to notice or care about the off-beat clapping to a tune no one but Claudia can properly mimic.

Lola and Alfonso keep staring at each other like there's no one and nothing else in the world as they extend their hands over the well and slowly tip out their palmfuls of seeds. They rain down the well with a quiet swish, echoing until they plip into the water. Lola reaches for Alfonso first. She winds their fingers together with an artful twist, a graceful flick of digits Addie's never seen. Lola's staring up at him like the moon came down and settled into his eyes. She's a woman entranced, but the curve of her lips is too deep to be innocent.

Alfonso's mouth opens and closes as he blinks down at her. Of the two, he's the one struck dumb. Lola's drawing closer, or drawing him closer - it's hard to tell. One moment, they're two people at the edge of a well. The next, they're a mess of tangled arms, hands, and faces, pressed too tightly in the courtyard under the opalescent moonlight to look like two separate people unless Addie squints.

The guards break off clapping for a series of hoots and whistles that bring a flush up the back of Addie's neck. But Alfonso and Lola seem unbothered.

Alfonso stumbles back a step, almost tipping onto his arse. Lola rights him, her face alight with something softer than the amusement or fondness she gives so freely around the kitchen. Lola and Alfonso get down to the courtyard cobblestones without tumbling all over each other, though Addie doubts anyone would be surprised if they'd fallen into another mess of two inseparable bodies. The soldiers walk in on each other's exploits all the time. At least in this case, Lola and Alfonso are both clothed.

Something sharp twinges between Addie's ribs as she smiles for them. It's only fitting that Lola smile like she's the happiest woman in the castle when her presence lights up the kitchen. Addie smiles wider as Lola breaks through the group with Alfonso. She watches longer than perhaps she should as they disappear into the shadows of the courtyard and a door bangs shut after them. Addie stares even when the other guards' whistles die off and the group slowly disperses. Claudia saunters off with a soldier on each arm, scolding them with a contagious grin that renders her words useless as they hang on her and laugh. Shameless, but full of life and fun.

Addie swigs again from the flask, though her head's already fogged at the edges. And if she's leaning into Marcos' comforting bulk, if she's using his shoulder as a headrest, well, she can blame it on the drink come morning.

Marcos tugs her closer, the fiery musk of soldier's spirits puffing over Addie's forehead. One soldier came from Ettinsmoor, like Alfonso, and brought distilling expertise. Family business, something like that. On its own the spirit is bitter, harsh, leaves a chalky aftertaste amid the burning. Marcos discovered blending it with ale hid the taste. Addie has to give him credit; the questionable mix is remarkably efficient.

"Like I said," Marcos drawls, "Lola's got a sweetheart."

"Like I said, I knew that." Addie's head lolls as she grins up at him. "I'm pretty sure everyone this side of the castle knew that."

"Touching, wasn't it?" Marcos is heavy beside her, but Addie can't tell if he's leaning in or his arm is pulling her into his side. Addie tries to balance them both. If Marcos falls, she'll tumble with him. Or, optimistically, she'll laugh and get the nearby patrol to help him up; she's in no state to lug him around.

Addie lets out the most unladylike snort she can manage. "Nauseating."

Marcos goes quiet long enough she wonders just how many ales he's had. It's not unusual to poke good-natured fun at a romance they both know of, especially one they witnessed unfolding. He must be hitting the exhaustion that chases the drunken high.

"Not much of a romantic, are you?"

Addie takes another gulp of spiked ale, grimacing around the burn. Effective as it is, the pungent taste peeks through if she fills her mouth too much.

"You're not either," Addie mutters with a cough. This batch tastes worse than usual. "Did you up the spirits this time?"

Marcos plucks the flask from her grasp and takes a long, pointed draught. Show-off.

His arm loosens around her waist as he takes steadier strides than Addie expected up to the well's edge. Addie lets him get a step or two ahead, but she follows him up when his hand lands on the top of the stones. Knowing Marcos, he'll fall in and she'll either have to yank him back to solid ground or listen to his snarking while she struggles to pull him up with the well rope. The former of the two options is infinitely preferable.

"Not interested, then?"

Addie regards his tight-set mouth, the flush of alcohol in his cheeks, the shadow of the day's beard over his jaw. "Not really practical, is it? Why waste good seeds down a castle well?"

"So you prefer the countryside?" Marcos draws her close, his arm a familiar weight over her shoulders. "Didn't take you for the provincial type."

Provincial? Addie elbows his ribs - or she tries. The drink distorts her aim, sending her elbow behind Marcos' back instead.

"I'm not a seeds type," Addie says. "If I tie myself to anyone, I'd rather have that just between us. Private, you know?"

"Intimate." Marcos nods sloppily, catching himself against the well. "Didn't take you for that type either."

"I'm not." Addie lets herself sag into him, because he's warm and solid and her head is too heavy. "But I'd like to be. Someday. Might be nice, y'know?"

Lola and Alfonso certainly make a convincing case for it. Ever since Lola got close with Alfonso, she's stepped lighter, smiled brighter, laughed easier. It's as though the usual stresses of work and life in Miraz's castle don't weigh the same.

It seems nice.

Marcos' hand finds her waist, his hand splayed unmistakably low on her hip. "Yeah. It would."

Drink or no drink, this is too serious for her tastes. Marcos' tone is too deep, too gravelled, too close to something like sincerity. That's not their thing.

Addie tilts her face up, fully intent on finding something to joke about. She never gets the chance; Marcos' mouth covers hers before she can speak, his lips firm and slightly too moist.

It's not bad, per se. It's just new, and she's never done it before, and Marcos should've picked a better time. The drink makes Addie's kissing sloppy, haphazard and halting and probably embarrassing. The angle strains her neck, even with Marcos' arm around her back.

Is this how it is for Lola? Maybe the awkwardness goes away later. Claudia always says how much better kissing and a tumble in the sheets is after a drink, but maybe Addie's had one too many and that's why her head feels funny, throbbing haphazardly as she tries to find the right angle.

If she kisses Marcos enough, maybe this scratching ache in her chest will go away.

So when Marcos suggests a bed, well, why not? It worked for Alfonso and Lola.

And perhaps, Addie muses through the fermented fog of spirits and ale, it's worse to be alone.

A splinter digs into her palm. Addie knows not to palm open the door, learned the hard way years ago that wooden doors are only smooth on doors the nobles touch. It's just that her hand's shaking too much to grip the handle and her fingers wouldn't grip and she forgot.

She's drunk. She's allowed to forget things.

Claudia's snores echo in the room, her form a shadowed lump sprawled belly-first on her cot. Her faded blanket - the same threadbare excuse for warmth issued to all the maids - lies tangled around her legs.

Addie tries to smile. They all tease Claudia about her snoring.

Addie's stomach lurches again, bile seeping up her throat. She emptied her stomach out a window on the way, so this must be the drink.

It must be the drink.

Addie is never, ever drinking again.

Lola's cot is empty. Addie expected that, so the twinge beneath her breast is nothing. Imagined, perhaps, or an aftereffect of throwing up.

"Addie?"

Addie jumps, arms flying over her chest in the half-moment before she recognises Anna's wispy voice. Anna is little more than an outline in the dark, sitting carefully on the edge of her bed.

"Are you alright?"

Addie tries again to smile. Stupidly, because it's too dark for that.

"Yeah," Addie breathes. Her throat seizes around air, tongue thick and unwieldy as it presses behind her teeth. "I'm -"

It's just too much drink. Crying about it won't sober her up any faster.

Addie can't stop. Useless as tears and shakes and choking on her own spit is, she can't stop.

A hand lands as gently as a sigh on Addie's shoulder.

That's new. Anna avoids touching people.

Addie's stomach lifts again, threatening a mess absolutely no one should have to clean up at this hour. Especially not Anna. Her eyes always have such bags in the morning.

"Really," Addie tries, "I'm f -"

"I wasn't. Not for a while after." Anna's hand gains new weight, aching against the round of Addie's shoulder. But not grasping, not clutching. Her hand is just… there.

The stone floor's chill bites through Addie's skirt. When did she wind up on the floor?

"It's not -" Addie swallows the acid at the back of her throat. "I mean, I went. I went, I… natural progression, something like that. I should've known what I was starting, I -"

"No," Anna says firmly. "There's nothing wrong with stopping when you want to. That's how it's supposed to go."

Anna wasn't there. She didn't stumble across a tilting courtyard choking on guilt, she didn't puke over a castle wall with alcohol burning through her throat, she didn't apologise a dozen times to someone she leaned on like -

What was Marcos to her? Addie frowns at her lap, at her fingers tangled in her coarse skirt. Not a brother, something a little more than a friend, but not a -

A… whatever Alfonso is to Lola. Not that either.

Anna's hand disappears. Addie's shoulder cools instantly as the room's chill bites into her skin like claws. It's ridiculous how cold the castle always is.

No sense in sitting on the floor; that just worsens the chill. Legs aching, Addie eases to her feet and brushes off her skirt as she crosses the room, finds her cot, sinks down gratefully, pulls her blanket tight around her shoulders. She should get out of her dress, but it's cold, Tash curse it, and if Addie wants to sleep in her dress, she will. It's not anyone's business what she sleeps in, anyway.

She should apologize to Anna. Some of those harsh thoughts might've slipped out, Addie can't tell, and Anna is the quiet, sweet one and she didn't deserve that and -

A cup of water presses into Addie's hands.

"Rinse your mouth," Anna whispers. "It helps."

Addie stares dumbly at Anna's thin silhouette, but she has the sense to obey. The water flows cool and bright over her tongue, never mind the slight mineral tang from hours in the clay pitcher.

The water sours as it washes away her remnants of sick. Addie spits into her chamber pot, but her mouth is fresher for it. Anna was right; it helps, if only a little.

Addie finishes the cup at once and catches Anna's free hand.

"Thank you."

Anna says nothing, but the air lightens with something like kindness.

Something like understanding.

Chapter 3 Preview:

"I'm Addie," she says at last. "Adelina, if your manners need a full name. And you? What title does Mr - His Highness prefer?"

She says 'Highness' like it's a dirty word.

Like she's testing him.