Chapter 8 Content Warnings: slight reference to Chapter 2, reference to hickeys / love marking
Chapter 8: i was lost til you found me
Addie
When the situation calls for it, Addie likes to think she can tuck away her feelings and get on with whatever needs doing. It's a point of pride over many of the servants. Morning should bring a flood of common sense, for all her practice at it.
The moment Addie sets foot in the study again, it doesn't matter that Bruna is half a stride ahead of her. It doesn't matter that the bed needs changing again and another long day of the same chores stretches before her. It matters that today is laundry day, and she knows for a fact that one pair of Caspian's breeches badly needs washing. It matters that the books that tumbled from the shelf are all put to rights, that Caspian cleaned up so she wouldn't have to re-shelve them. It matters that the poetry book that fell to the floor when she climbed into his lap is sitting centred on the window seat, just to the left of her little stack of books Caspian leaves for her. It matters that he left her cap folded neatly beside the book, and that Bruna somehow notices the white, ruffled triangle in her march to the bedroom.
Bruna turns back with a single arched eyebrow. "Forget something?"
Addie's mouth opens around nothing, her tongue floundering around excuses she should've prepared just in case. If only she hadn't spent all morning mooning.
"Bruna -"
"Be careful," she says, and never in Addie's life have two simple words been so damning. Swallowing takes several tries as her heart thunders in her throat.
"Come now," Bruna says as she strides into the bedroom and drops two stacked baskets beside the wardrobe. "Laundry day."
They work in silence, despite the rising itch in Addie's throat to speak, say something, conjure up a denial. When they're done with the bed and the dirty linens are piled in the basket, Bruna pulls a second from beneath the first and waves Addie over to the hamper. Addie hurries to oblige; perhaps if she works quickly enough, maybe Bruna will forget what she saw. If she's useful enough, lightens the workload, maybe Bruna will like the extra help enough to say nothing.
There, atop the dirty clothes, sit the same breeches Caspian wore last night.
Tash's hells. The heat that sweeps over her body is viciously, deliciously inappropriate. To think even a little of how he -
No, work. She has to work so she can get on with her day like nothing is out of the ordinary. Like she didn't just watch a prince fall to pieces before her a room away.
Caspian doesn't care of she's useful or not.
Addie pulls her lip between her teeth, biting back a telltale smile. Perhaps one day, she'll let him help her finish. For now, she can do that herself. Why rush into such vulnerability when all it took was the frantic press of their bodies for -
Addie pinches the top of her hand until the sting pulls her mind back to the present. There couldn't be a worse time for this. Bruna is right there, and she already knows and Addie is such an idiot and oh gods, the evidence of Caspian's spend is visible on the inside of his trousers as she tosses them into the basket.
She'd felt the bloom of warmth against her core as he came. It's then, as she's staring down at those pants, that she sees the damning detail. On the front is another stain. It's slight, far less noticeable as colour goes.
Caspian wasn't the only one who ruined those breeches. There's no mistaking the stiffness of the fabric in a long, thick stripe down the middle.
The realisation steals her breath, sends her head spinning as she wonders what else they could get up to. Is showing up as usual tonight a good idea? She could have a quick wash beforehand, draw up water from the well and scrub away the day's grime. The other maids won't find it odd, surely. The kitchens aren't a clean place to work; every day leaves a fine layer of dirt and smoke and soap over the skin that they all rinse away whenever they can. It's not odd to do something just because she wants to.
By the time Addie's collected the laundry and started dusting, Bruna bustles through the study.
"Deliver these to the laundry. Don't worry with the study today; it's quite clean." Bruna glances down at the sliver of scratched wood peeking through the newly organised papers as if seeing it for the first time. "Quite clean," she repeats, an odd twist to her voice.
"I've got it," Addie says as she stacks both baskets and hoists them up somewhat precariously. "See you tomorrow."
Bruna's kind enough to hold the door. She says nothing as they walk together before she peels off to see to the next room, but the laundry keeps Addie from getting a good look at her face. Bruna's brusque goodbye isn't reassuring.
Addie fights the sudden impossible urge to return to the study in case Caspian forgets a book again. Midday trysts would be foolish. But if she's more careful, what's the harm in a moonlit tryst?
There's no harm in seeing him again tonight; she'll make sure not to forget anything this time. Why shouldn't she bring a prince to his knees, if that's what they both want?
Even the towering laundry can't weigh her down as Addie winds her way over stone floors to the laundry. The head launderer takes one look at the pile and waves her away.
"Send those to Sal. She needs more to do, anyway."
No one in this entire castle needs more to do, but Addie has the sense to hold her tongue and hauls the laundry next door to Sal. With a few wrinkles and the barest streaks of grey in her hair, the older woman has the air of a seasoned matron. Perhaps if Sal looked the part of the grumpy old laundry maid, the girl Sal supposedly tossed in the lye bath would've been more respectful. Or perhaps that's just another castle rumour.
"Sal?" Addie calls. "I'm to bring these to you."
"Bring them, then," she drolls.
Addie drops the first basket down, praying it doesn't spill Caspian's things all over the floor. It's a relief to see around the pile again, though it's nothing compared to the reprieve for her arms.
"Sorry for the mess; seems like all the linens get dirty at once."
Sal grunts and starts pulling all the light-coloured clothes from the load. By the time Addie gets the second basket down, Sal's finished sorting half of the first.
Addie dumps out the linens, tossing the blanket into a different pile than the sheets and pillowcases.
"Is this right?"
Sal sits beside an empty basket now, same as Addie. The shadows across her brow deepen.
"Good enough. Now get on wherever you're supposed to be."
Gruff, just like Perla, but Addie finds she doesn't mind.
Market day is a pleasant distraction. Anna sends her off with Lola the moment the breakfast dishes go out. The lack of suitable parsley and watercress has reached a breaking point, and since no one wants Perla marching up to Lady Prunaprismia and detailing every wilted stem and bruised leaf, Addie scurries off to the city market with Lola to find something useable. Lady Prunaprismia is a patient woman; her husband isn't. Lord Miraz usually goes after other lords, but no one wants to test the unwritten rule.
Addie links her arm in Lola's as they escape Perla's lunch preparations, the echo of the spatula and Perla's strict orders to "bring back perfect watercress or nothing at all" chasing them all the way to the servants' door.
"I didn't think watercress is in season yet." Lola's mouth twists as they slip into the shadows.
Addie adjusts the basket on her arm and bumps the door open with her hip. "It's close to the last summer shear," Addie says, "but that should've been two weeks ago. Something like that."
Clanking footsteps alert her before Lola replies. The door bangs shut as Addie whips to face the pair of guards, her blood runs chill from her shoulders to her fingertips.
Autumn must be coming faster than she thought if it's this cool just after high noon.
By the time Addie steadies her breathing, Lola's sprinted away and thrown her arms around Alfonso, murmuring whatever sweet nothings lovers say.
It's silly how her heart claws into her stomach before she recognizes that the other guard isn't Marcos. Caspian made sure they posted him somewhere else. It's not him, it doesn't look like him, and this skittering awareness over her skin is nothing but the shade's embrace. It's not Marcos, but she recognises him.
This round-faced, stubbled guard was there that night, when -
Addie bites the side of her tongue until she tastes metal. When Lola and Alfonso threw the seeds. The night they made things official. That's all. Just a happy reveller and friend of Alfonso.
And Marcos.
Addie finds a polite smile as Lola and Alfonso finish their sappy good morning exchange, as if they didn't see each other mere hours ago after waking together.
"Addie, right?" asks the guard. He takes a measured step into the sunlight, his eyes lingering over places she doesn't appreciate. Addie doesn't care about manners, but she doesn't enjoy being appraised like wilted watercress.
"That's right. And you are?" Addie keeps her smile firmly in place and moves the basket in front of her. She just needs two hands to balance the weight.
"Luka," he says. It could be a friendly smile, but with the sun glinting off his helmet and the company she knows he keeps, it doesn't feel friendly. "Marcos told us all about you."
Addie grips the basket until the handle creaks. "Likewise," she answers. "I heard he changed posts?"
Is this how Caspian feels, constantly keeping up that polite smile? She'll have to give him more reasons to do away with it, at least around her. The corners of her mouth ache already.
Luka shrugs. "City gates needed another guard, but his quarters're still here. Pretty sure he wouldn't mind a visit from you."
"No need; I'm sure friends like you are all the company he needs." Addie steps aside as Lola finishes hugging Alfonso like she hasn't seen him in forever. The deeper shadows by the door send another layer of goosebumps over Addie's arms.
"He's been in a mood. Maybe you can cheer him up?" Luka nods toward the door at her back. "You ladies need an escort?"
Addie sets her jaw. There's no time for such trifling concerns when the peace of the kitchen is at stake. Why should she care about Marcos' mood? He didn't care about hers when it mattered.
"We have one," Lola chirps, tugging Alfonso far too close for propriety.
Manners be damned. Between Luka and Alfonso, Addie will gladly take the latter. Besides, this is a good chance to find out more about him.
Addie bids goodbye to Luka and pushes the servants' door open again.
"So, Alfonso, tell me how you two met."
"You get especially dirty today, Addie?" Apparently, Claudia is determined to find meaning in the mundane.
Addie rolls her eyes as she sloshes water up her arms and onto her face, spluttering at the chill.
"We work in the kitchen; we're always dirty."
"Yes," Claudia says, her shoes clattering to the floor as she shoves them off and perches atop her bed like a bird on a castle parapet. "That's my point."
"Afraid I don't follow. Maybe you need a wash, too." Addie sinks into the shallow tub and washes away the day's work and the market trip with her yellowed soap bar. It's harsh and leaves her skin raw if she scrubs too hard, but that'll fade by the time she reaches the study.
It really was lovely of him to clean up the place. The cap would've been far more damning had he left the books splayed over the floor. Though it might be a good idea to ask him to leave her cap under the book if she forgets it again.
Addie splashes suds off her face just as her skin heats with warning. Now that Bruna showed her the servant passageways around the nobility's castle wing, Addie has everything she needs to sneak about. Lucky Caspian. Lucky her.
"You getting pretty for someone? I seem to remember you making eyes at a certain guard not long ago."
Addie's stomach pinches. She doesn't recall making eyes like Claudia means. Claudia's grin is too cheeky, too cheerful given the person she's referencing. Anna, ever the quiet one, says nothing as she turns on her cot and pulls her blanket up to her chin.
Her hair could use a scrub. Pent up in the cap all day in the heat of the kitchens, it's not as fresh as she'd like. Addie scrubs the soap bar through her hair with a vengeance.
"Or maybe I'm tired of sleeping in the day's dirt."
Addie finger-combs her wet curls until they get that telltale sticky feeling warning her she needs to rinse or risk breaking off whatever strands the hearth tending hasn't singed. After two mistakes left her with scraggly chunks that refused to tuck under her cap, she learned when to rinse.
By the time Addie pins up her dripping hair, Claudia's laid down too. For Claudia, sleep always wins over interrogations if Addie stays quiet long enough. Addie rushes to dump the dirty basin and just like that, there's nothing keeping her from going back to the prince.
In her defence, she has a routine - and she likes it.
What a sight she must be, hurrying through dark hallways and into the servant paths with her wet hair out in the open with no apron and no undershift. After bathing in it, it wasn't quite fit to wear under her dress. Cool breezes whisper up her legs as she walks. It's strange to have such awareness of her skin, of the press of her curves under her clothes.
Strange, but not unpleasant. Maybe Caspian will like it as much as she does.
He must hear her coming, which must mean he's been listening, waiting for her. Addie is still steps from the door when it swings open and there he is, wild-eyed with his hair perfectly brushed back but his shirt rumpled and half-tucked.
Gods, he looks as sinful as she feels. When Addie leaps into his arms, he catches her so her toes hover over the ground. The kiss is bruising, a desperate clash of lips and teeth and tongues, graceless and hungry enough she doesn't care about anything but drowning in him. He fumbles with the door, and having just one of his arms tight around her waist is simply unacceptable. She reaches out and kicks it closed, the bang echoing between her legs.
Kissing Caspian while perched on his lap is intoxicating - the easy access to his neck, the natural gravity of sinking onto his lap, the simple power of leaning down to kiss someone who by the convention of their stations should never be below her. Kissing Caspian against the bookshelf is needy in the frantic rolls of their hips, the staccato match and mismatch of their strokes, the strength of Caspian's arms as he holds her steady. Kissing him with her toes dusting the ground is different. There's heat here, yes, but something softer edges the desperate press of their bodies. Addie is no small thing, but stretched out against him with his arms wrapped around her so tight, she feels somehow treasured, precious, cared for.
Small in some tremulous, aching way she's always longed for. Precious in ways she never thought she'd have.
This time, he devours her and she lets him, but the moment his tongue presses into her mouth, she pushes back with hers. Caspian matches her reckless dance, changing angles as he invites her tongue into his mouth.
Addie gets a wicked idea.
When his tongue invades her mouth again, she sucks.
The sound bursting from his throat should be illegal, should not be allowed. It's unfair how quickly the sound of it floods between her legs, how the crush of their bodies presses his cock against her stomach and not where she throbs for him. It's simply cruel.
Caspian's solution to the traitorous, frustrated groan slithering past her teeth is to pull the tie out of her hair. Of all the uses for his hands, sending her wet hair down her back is what he came up with?
He doesn't seem to care about the chill or the wet as he runs his hands through her hair, never mind the tangles of half-formed curls. His kisses turn slow and soft, almost lazy, as if they have all the time in the world.
That, too, is utterly unfair. She's supposed to be indulging herself, turning off her mind so she can enjoy his moans and the need pulsing at her core. Her heart isn't supposed to… to bloom out like this, to open like a wildflower in the spring. But the longer Caspian works the tangles from her hair, the more Addie doesn't really mind. Not when his hands are just as sinful rubbing circles against her skull as they were halfway up her skirt.
"How are you?" he murmurs, his breath tickling her wet lips.
If Addie had her head screwed on right, she'd ask what exactly has come over him. She'd kiss away the pleasantries like she did last night and see if he's so keen on holding a polite conversation with his desire straining against his trousers. But Caspian's hands soothe her snappishness into contentment.
Caspian stops kissing her altogether - not even little pecks as he waits for her answer - and why is he smiling down at her? He's turned cool and tempered and stupidly polite hardly a few good kisses into the night, and he's smiling like she just finished him herself. She was right; he's an absolute idiot.
Yet, the smile at her mouth isn't a smile she'd show an idiot.
Caspian repeats the question. His voice rumbles in the scant space between them, soothing and igniting her in the same stroke.
"I'm fine?" Addie manages. It should embarrass her how she breathes the words, how she leans into him until their lips brush again.
"And the kitchen? The other maids?"
What in Tash's name?
Never mind that he's combed out every tangle so her hair flows down her back. Never mind that he's blinking down at her with the softest smile on his face, with eyes deep and dark and probing. Never mind that he seems genuinely curious as to her answer.
He means it.
Addie's jaw slackens, and she speaks before she thinks better of it.
"You're asking me about the kitchen?"
Caspian's cheeks heat, but it's not until she spies the pink staining the tips of his ears that she realises he's bashful. Bashful, of all things. She stares up at him, her hands tracing gentle circles over his arms.
"I realised I know little about you," he explains. What she would give to kiss the corners of his mouth where they turn up, boyish and shy. "I thought I ought to start asking."
Oh.
An entirely different heat sweeps from the crown of her head down to her toes. This is gentle waves on a shore, a soft midmorning breeze in the summer. This is the tingles in her fingertips when she would touch his arm to say hello spread all over her skin.
Her smile is an unstoppable thing.
"Good," Addie whispers. "They're good. Perla got it in her head to decorate the stew with a chunk of carved carrot. In every bowl."
Addie's shoulders relax, and then she's rolling her eyes and joking about Perla's quirks and insatiable perfectionism, often driven by the feared (respected, really) end of her beloved spatula. Its wood turned old and speckled before Addie's time, but it does the job well.
"I wondered why there was a star in my soup," says Caspian. His hands splay warm and snug across her back, and with the press of his arms it's better than any blanket she's ever had.
"Eight points, like the compass crest, or whatever you nobles call it."
Perla muttered about a compass and a star; it was anyone's guess which it was. All that mattered was that Perla sketched a shape in flour dustings, Addie carved out something with eight points (shorter on the diagonals), and Perla sang her praises for a precious half-second before the threat of the spatula returned, lest dinner be late.
Perish the thought.
"Yes, compass."
"And you?" Addie asks. She pokes at his ribs on a whim; the ensuing squirm is adorable in ways a prince shouldn't be. It's no good for her heart, seeing such playfulness from him.
"I fear I have no tales from the kitchen to share today." Caspian has the audacity to grin down at her like he's proud of being a tricky man with the nerve to set her heart fluttering after he greeted her with kisses frantic enough to drown her.
Addie pokes him again, on both sides for good measure. Caspian huffs and - Tash's talons, is he pouting? With his hair flopped low on his forehead, his eyes flickering at her from behind the dark curtain, and the slight protrusion of his lower lip, it certainly looks that way.
"How was your day, you goose?" she sniffs. "Recite your homework well?"
Caspian's pout melts away, though the playful spark lingers in his eyes.
"I did. Though the good Doctor did notice these." He runs one long finger along his neck.
Addie chokes.
His neck is spotted with no less than four love marks. Some aren't too dark, but there's one tucked under his jaw that even the most expensive of powders or whatever else the nobles put on their faces could cover. The shadow of Caspian's hair hid it, but with him turned to the side like this, hair pulled back, it couldn't be more obvious.
Addie's tongue trips on an apology. "I'm sorry, really. Should've thought of that."
But for all her embarrassment, there's no mistaking the sharp spike of heat between her thighs.
Caspian's arms wind tight around her, soothing in so many ways she can't afford. He's still smiling as he regards what must be a truly ferocious blush staining her face.
"To be perfectly honest, I quite enjoyed it," he says.
"Well yes, I didn't think that was in question." There, now he's blushing too. "I suppose I'll have to leave those somewhere else."
Addie tucks her lips between her teeth. She spoke without thinking again. Perhaps she should be a bit more careful with her words, but Caspian's ensuing stutter is entirely worth it.
This, at last, brings his lips back to hers in a searing kiss. If only he'll sigh like this into her mouth every night, she'll forget to mind the tang of longing burning over her tongue.
It's a bad sign, longing for him when she has him rocking into her and uttering her name like a prayer. Yet in this moment, Addie can't bring herself to care.
A/N: Oh dear, Addie's catching Soft Feelings. The himbo charm has struck!
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Caspian lifts his head and stares like she hung the moon in the sky herself, all boyish eagerness and fascination. His hands don't wander but they squeeze her hips, curiosity lingering in the reflex.
"I'll show you sometime," Addie says.