A/N: As much as I enjoyed Cas and Addie's happy moments, I do SO love their angst...

Chapter 18 Content Warnings: N/A

Chapter 18: can you let me know how to help?

Caspian

"Are you well, Caspian?" His aunt inquires after him not so delicately as she could have, though Caspian can't blame her. He doesn't sleep well without Addie.

Caspian swirls the light breakfast wine and takes a careful draught of his goblet. Just in case. His throat tightens around a swallow.

"Only a few late nights," Caspian answers at length as he butters his toast. "Apologies, Aunt."

"I trust these were late nights spent studying." Miraz announces himself by thrpwing open the double doors and clomping inside with overextended strides.

Caspian keeps his eyes down at his breakfast with the perfectly legitimate excuse of cutting an apple.

"They were," Caspian says. "There is much to learn of our history." His uncle surely knows better than anyone how quiet Caspian's nights have been of late.

"Our history?" Miraz greets his wife with a brusquer brush of the hand than usual. Most mornings, he at least takes her hand. Caspian watches from the corner of his eye as his Aunt Prunaprismia returns to her breakfast of cinnamon-dusted porridge with her brow furrowed.

Caspian eats a slice of apple before answering, without bothering to take off the skin. He used to, but that was before he ate apples sitting on the kitchen floor with Addie.

"Of Telmar," Caspian answers. "Doctor Cornelius thought it wise I know more of our ancestors."

Miraz's chair scrapes across the floor. His uncle has a precise way of making noise whenever he's in a mood. With Lady Prunaprismia likely carrying his uncle's heir in her belly, Caspian can't fathom what his uncle could be in a mood about.

"Wise indeed." Miraz turns to his breakfast with clanging silverware. Although his uncle hasn't seen fit to stare him down like usual, Caspian's hands still tingle in warning. "I trust you have no more distractions?"

Caspian tries to keep his hand steady as he slices another sliver of apple. But in this, at least, he can let his feelings play to his favour. It's easy to act sad, worried, as if he's lost someone dear to him. He nearly did.

Since Anna's disappearance, he and Addie agreed she would visit less. She turns the candle holder's handle to the left every morning, so he knows she's been there, that she's alright, that she's alive. Caspian always turns it back to the right before he goes to bed, so she'll know the same.

Days without seeing her for himself is too much.

Every time Caspian sees it, that handle reminds him that he could've ended things. He could have chosen the safest path for her, never mind the heartbreak. He should have.

He still could.

But Caspian knows that if he sends Addie away, he'll lose her. Not to his uncle, not to a soldier's blade. To fear, and to betrayal. Merely suggesting it sent her running from his study.

He can't leave her alone to the mess he entangled her in.

"No, uncle," says Caspian, hoarse in a way he doesn't have to fake. It's been six days since he saw her. "I suppose that's best."

Miraz butters his toast slowly, as if he's enjoying every scrape of his knife. "Indeed it is."

"Even so," says his aunt, as though her husband isn't souring the entire breakfast, "what a shame. You seemed happier, Caspian."

Caspian's throat thickens until he can barely swallow the mouthful of half-chewed apple.

"Yes," he murmurs. "I suppose I was."

Miraz's knife clatters onto his plate, and there is the stare Caspian loathes so much.

"I trust you will find fulfilment in your schoolbooks. Unless the good Doctor has run out of history?"

"He hasn't," Caspian answers hastily. "Nor of equations."

Not for the first time, Caspian wonders if his uncle insists on so much studying to keep him out of the way. Lately Miraz has snapped at him for venturing out to the sparring fields, despite that neglecting them would be inexcusable to even the most loyal nobles.

Perhaps breakfast isn't so important; Caspian can be forgiven for skipping it as he used to. It would be much nicer to start his day without tasting for poison in his goblet.

Addie

The one good of her nightmares is that they rouse her well before dawn. Addie used to try to fall back asleep, but that was when they had Anna. That was before the kitchen's short staffing kept everyone late, before Perla's minimal patience frayed down to nothing and she left a dent on the counter one day. Going in early can help; Addie can at least be useful.

She can try to make up for everything.

Addie drives the heel of her hand into the dough one last time before scraping it into a neat circle. They have enough white loaves for the day, but the soldiers cleared out the cocket loaves yesterday.

Months ago, Addie might've teased Marcos about a rough sparring session, asked if half the company turned into giant mutts for a day. She's seen men eat thrice what she can in a day, but even the most ravenous soldiers (usually the new recruits still bulking up) never matched the city mutts. On the streets, she lost many a scrap to alley dogs.

In her haste to forget, Addie scrapes the ash too carelessly from the oven and coughs through the smouldering cloud. She wipes the worst of the soot from her eyes, but Addie only stops to clean herself off once the ash is out and the loaves are in. One of the first things Anna taught her was the importance of speed; too slo, and the oven cooled too fast, and the bread didn't cook evenly.

Addie's hands shake as she splashes water over her face and wipes away the mess she made.

She's forever leaving messes.

Perla's wooden kitchen shoes clack into the kitchen just when Addie's nose threatens to run.

"Good, you're up. Cockets?"

Addie scrubs her rag over her face and breathes through the lump in her throat. "Just went in. Ground the porridge too."

"Good work." Perla drops her spatula into her apron pocket - the closest thing to visible approval she ever does. "Cheese should arrive today; see that it's put away."

Addie seizes on the order gratefully. Claudia used to run the errands with Anna, but Perla's taken to sending Addie now. The company's not who she's prefer - they've barely spoken since it became clear Anna is gone for good - but getting out of the kitchen is worth it. The kitchen feels… haunted, sometimes.

Addie busies her hands with cleaning the dirty bowls. "When today?"

"Within the hour. Rouse Claudia if that soldier friend of yours won't help."

Addie stiffens. She'll roll every cheese wheel into the pantry herself rather than ask Marcos for help with anything else.

"I can manage."

Perla scoops flour and ale-barm into a clean bowl and begins a new batch of bread. "Rouse Claudia, then. Don't drop anything."

"I won't." Addie finishes cleaning the bowls and turns to refill the water jugs, though she's only emptied one so far.

"One more thing." Perla splashes water into the dough and kneads it together without turning around. "Anna's duties are yours now. No doubt the next maid'll be some young whelp from the city."

Addie swallows so hard her throat aches, suddenly grateful for the water jug hoisted in her arms hiding her face.

"Next maid?"

They need the help - no arguing that. Perla says something to that effect, but it can't be right to bring someone new into this mess, not when Anna's gone and no one knows how it happened. No one saw anything.

"Are you sure that's…" Breathe, she can't forget to breathe. Addie's arms tremble around the clay jug.

The Perla Addie knows would snap not to question her, maybe list the early mornings she's come in to make up for their short staffing. The closest Perla ever comes to care is fussing over more avoidable mistakes whenever Addie's overtired. This Perla grasps the water jug's lip and pushes it down until Addie's face to face with her and her shallow, flour-dusted wrinkles.

"Patrols are lighter now. Danger's passed," Perla mutters, as if such quiet tones taste strange on the tongue. "No use in wallowing."

If only Perla knew how wrong she is. The danger won't pass as long as Miraz holds power.

Addie will keep her distance. Just in case. And in the meantime, she needs answers. If another maid disappears, she can make sure that this time, it's her. No one else should ever have to pay for her mistakes. Never again.

Never.

With three hours until midnight, Addie should be rushing to Caspian's study. The guard change comes soon; if she hurries, she can catch the brief window of opportunity. She should be in his arms already, with her nose nestled against his neck and his heartbeat pulsing against her fingertips. Caspian's solidity always calms her heart, too. Sometimes Addie matches the rhythm of his breathing.

She should not linger in the courtyard. She shouldn't watch Claudia walk alone and imagine another person beside her. She shouldn't glance over to Sal's dim washing room. And she shouldn't march over without thinking of what to say - especially given her and Sal's last conversation.

"Stop blocking the light, girl."

Addie shuffles in the doorway, her feet nearly taking her back outside.

Marcos told her yesterday he hasn't found out anything. Outside the kitchen, the whole castle carries on as if Anna never existed.

But she did. Anna is gone now but she was here and that ought to count for something.

Jaw set tight, Addie steps inside and picks up the paddle. Sal doesn't look up as Addie throws shirts into the washing bin. A moment later, the older woman is back to wringing out pants. She snaps them once before tossing them into a nearby basket.

Addie pushes the shirts around the lye until her shoulders ache.

"Sal?"

"Just when I was enjoying the quiet." Sal snaps a pair of light brown pants harsher than necessary. "Who're you nosing about this time?"

Addie pushes the paddle too hard and sloshes lye water over her feet. Her skin burns instantly, though it's more itchy than the lancing burns from the hearth. She'll wash it off in a moment.

"Anna's gone."

"And you're still here." Sal retrieves a cream-coloured shirt. "Maybe I underestimated you."

Addie's stomach churns, her arms shaking as she rests her hands atop the paddle. "I had nothing to do with that. What did you see?"

As Sal rinses the shirt, the rinsing water splashes over Addie's feet and cools the lye's sting. "I saw nothing."

"Then what did you hear? And how?"

Sal wrings the shirt within an inch of its life and kicks over a half-empty basket of dirty laundry. "Finish these while you're here."

Addie kneels to fish out the lye-clean shirts first. Sal was right, the lye burns; after grabbing three shirts and tossing them in the rinsing tub, Addie's hands are red and itchy. "What did you hear?"

"A sensible girl would keep quiet, not ask questions." Sal leans over and grabs a handful sudsed shirts, sending another splash across Addie's feet.

"What questions shouldn't I ask, then?" Addie tips in the rest of the dirty laundry, ignoring her back's protests.

Without warning, Sal flings a dark shirt into Addie's torso. "Scrub harder, girl. Make yourself useful."

Addie grits her teeth and tosses the shirt back into the water. She is being useful. She's helping with a chore outside her responsibilities well past working hours with her hands red from lye. Addie shoves the paddle harder, ramming the laundry against the bin's sides until dirt clouds the water.

"A sensible girl would hold her tongue and be thankful she survived. A wise girl would leave that prince to his fate and save her own skin." The candlelight flickers with a sudden wind, casting darker shadows in the hollows of Sal's cheeks.

"Is that how you've survived? Holding your tongue?" Addie keeps her eyes on the laundry as she fishes out more clean clothes - with the paddle, this time. "Or do you only talk to soldiers?"

"I talk to no one, least of all soldiers," Sal hisses, too much like the errant snake that tried wintering in the pantry. "Finish that and get out."

Leaving would be the sensible thing. But last time Sal had useful information about Alfonso. If she's refusing to say anything about Anna, Sal must know something. Else why dismiss her? Why look between the door and the candle twice a minute?

Addie sets down the paddle, kneels by the bin, and finishes the washing with the board; the stubborn wine stains on this pale green shirt need the extra attention. More importantly, kneeling puts her within whispering distance of Sal. Addie splashes the water louder in case a patrol happens by.

"She would've crossed the courtyard with Claudia just after sunset. Did she come back out with someone? A guard named Luka?"

Sal answers mid-wring. "Not Luka. Stop nosing, or they'll come for you next."

That's better than the alternative. At least then, no one innocent would get hurt. Addie can make her peace with that.

"Keep away from that prince, if you know what's good for you. Otherwise it's both your necks."

Addie submerges two more shirts in the rinsing bin. "What's it to you either way? I thought you said his fate is set."

When Addie drops in a pair of trousers, Sal grabs her wrist tight enough to bruise and pulls her hand into the rinse water, soothing away the lye's sting. "You're helping fate - his and your own. Do you want to die?"

"There are worse things."

"Do you want him to die?" Sal tosses her hand away like dirty laundry, her lips curled back as she shakes her head. "If so, keep at it."

Addie wobbles on her knees and almost tips face first into the washing bin. Sal and Bruna think the same, though Bruna was much kinder about it by comparison. But they don't know him like she does; they don't know how hard he's working to secure allies from the shadows, don't see the books on war strategy and Telmarine nobility and politicking Caspian drowns himself in.

All they see is the cornered princeling doomed to die. They don't know that Caspian knows to leave.

Addie splashes her arms in the rinsing water as the lye's itch pricks her skin again. That's good; if Sal doesn't know, that's confirmation that the whole castle sees Caspian the same way - a frightened, bookish boy surrounded by enemies. That means he'll get away just fine, doesn't it? It means his and his professor's plans are working.

Addie finishes the washing in silence and leaves when the guards change out and the courtyard is empty.

When she arrives in her shared room, Claudia's rumbling snores echo against the walls (how she manages such noise, Addie will never understand). Lola's bed is empty, as usual. Either the night patrol schedule is busier than ever, or she'd rather sleep in Alfonso's bed regardless of other soldiers in the barracks. It seems foolish, dangerous, after Anna. What is she thinking, letting herself sleep anywhere near men like that, no matter if the beds are an arm's reach away?

And you were questioning my judgment?

Addie strips down to her shift and sits on her cot with her knees hugged to her chest. She'll go to Caspian tomorrow. She's supposed to be waiting a few days between visits; what's one more?

Somehow amid the long days, Perla finds a fourth maid to even their numbers - a waifish slip of a girl with wide doe eyes from the city, no more than fourteen. Sellea is a sweet child, but she doesn't know the kitchen or Perla's rules.

It took weeks of pestering and searching to find her. Years ago, work at the castle was something you fought for - positions never stayed available for long. These days, Sellea was the first interest they've had in over a month of advertising. Lola takes charge of Sellea's training, as she should; she has the gentlest temper, especially lately.

Addie keeps her distance far beyond normal politeness. She's seeing fewer patrols again, but without Marcos' updates she can't tell if it's a trap to lure Caspian's lover into recklessness or slacking they can afford after satisfying Miraz.

Better to stay away from Sellea and everyone else. No one else should get hurt just because Addie was stupid enough to fall for a prince with a sword at his neck.

Work is a good thing. Work keeps her busy. Work is there when Addie wakes in the middle of the night, sweating with the image of Caspian's corpse still stuck in her mind's eye. There's always work to do, and Addie's early mornings lighten the day's load while Sellea gets settled.

That's something. That's useful. That's why Perla would never send her away.

If Caspian changes his mind, Addie has this routine already in place. She won't have time to miss him. She barely has time to see him now.

It's better this way. She's ready no matter what happens.

Caspian hasn't spoken a word about his uncle in weeks, and he holds her longer than he used to for their hello kisses. They haven't had each other in weeks; the one time Caspian's hands drifted to her bum, she pulled away in favour of the window seat's solitude. This distance between them… she's the one putting it there.

Addie hates it. She hates how this distance is her doing. She hates preparing for the inevitability before it's happened. Hates how Caspian's hands don't roam anymore, how there's always a frown hiding in his mouth when he kisses her.

She should savour their time, especially now that they have less. Yet Addie spends half an hour talking herself into visiting him, long enough she almost misses the guard change.

Addie finds Caspian pacing the study in his sock feet, hair dishevelled and shirt untucked. Caspian looks up the instant she slips inside and wraps his arms tight around her waist before she finishes latching the door.

He says nothing, just presses frantic kisses across her shoulder and up her neck until his lips meet the shell of her ear.

"Hello to you too," Addie whispers.

"Are you well?"

"Much as I can be. How are you?" Addie turns at last and finds his mouth.

Caspian's hello kisses always quiet the tremors in her chest, the tightness in her shoulders. Addie sighs into his attentions and buries her fingers in his hair. It's always impossibly soft from some combination of royal soaps and days without tight caps and blazing hearths that scorch away wayward wisps.

"Better now," Caspian murmurs. When their lips part, he glides his tongue against hers and licks into her mouth as if she's a delicious dessert he missed terribly.

Something deep in Addie's chest burns when he does that. It's not a new part of his greeting, but part of her always wonders if the missing is a prelude to a goodbye. Would she even recognise a goodbye kiss, or would Caspian surprise her again?

Addie sinks down from her tiptoes and pulls away, never mind that Caspian's mouth chases her for a moment, and nods to the three overlapping scrolls covering the desk.

"What's tonight's topic?"

Caspian kisses her forehead, his hands rubbing sweeping circles across her back. He's been lingering closer, holding her longer when she comes to him. It might be reassuring if Addie let it. If part of her wasn't already bracing for the real goodbye.

"Equations and fractions," Caspian answers, grimacing. "My mathematics have not flourished of late."

Addie peers over the scrolls. The neat rows of numbers and lines look much cleaner than book scripts, though she doesn't understand their meaning. "Mind if I watch? Seems tidier than words."

Caspian blinks, his hand slowing between her shoulder blades. "If you like."

He sinks into his armchair and Addie plops onto his lap without thinking much of it; it's the only reasonable place to sit.

She's missed making his breath catch. She's been so careful not to spin him up too much these past weeks, but the persistent knot under her ribs loosens when she can affect him like this. She likes seeing how much of Caspian's tenderness she can bleed away with teasing.

No, she shouldn't - the noise. Neither of them are good at keeping quiet.

Addie tries not to fidget as Caspian explains fractions and multiplication and the mess of trying to put those together. She even tries it herself, with… less than perfect results.

Even so, the numbers are a welcome change from books; there's no questioning what numbers mean or what they're trying to say. No uncertainty. Useful for occupying Addie's mind if she doesn't want it wandering to other things.

Addie borrows one of Caspian's earlier scrolls and tries solving equations on a blank sheet Caspian insists on giving her.

"They take more room than you think," he says, with a rueful smile at his messy parchment.

Addie curls over the numbers and scratches away, the quill awkward in her grip. She needs more practice with writing; she can't remember the last time she wrote anything.

Unsurprisingly, Caspian finishes first. He stands and joins her on the window seat, though he hesitates before sitting.

"Almost done," Addie mutters. One more equation, and then she'll join him in bed. There's no rush; they'll lie down and fall asleep as they always do.

Addie decides she likes equations very much. Equations are tricky enough, strange enough, to keep her from missing everything else they used to do in bed. Equations busy her mind with numbers so she doesn't have to think of other things. Caspian's presence beside her on the window seat is enough.

"Have I told you how beautiful you are?"

Addie's hand falters, leaving a careless scratch across her parchment and smudging her current fraction. Caspian's hand trails down her calf, but she frowns at the numbers as if they spoke instead.

"Not in so many words," Addie says. "Why?"

Caspian lingers at her ankle, his fingertips hot as the kitchen hearth against her skin. And yet, he's never spoken so gently. "I realised I'd never said so. And I ought to."

She hums, teeth worrying the tip of her tongue as she glues her stare to the numbers.

Cross-multiply, that's what he said. Fractions don't multiply straight across. Addie scribbles out her last line of numbers and tries again. Even without checking the reference scroll, she knew the answer didn't look right.

Caspian's hand retreats. Addie pretends not to notice, because that's easier than missing his touch and wishing they had the luxury of making as much noise as they want.

Wishing Caspian had never tried to send her away. Wishing she could look at him without wondering when he'll actually do it. Weeks later, she should be able to forget. She should drink in every brush of Caspian's skin like it's the last time.

One day, it will be. May as well savour it now.

"I multiplied across." Addie shows Caspian her scribbles before he can stand and leave her to her busy work, quill splotches and fingerprint from her ink-stained thumb marring the page. "Silly, I know."

If Caspian smiles, she doesn't glance up to see it. "I've made the same mistake many times."

"Waste of good paper." Addie taps the end of the feathered quill against her mistakes and rests the parchment against her knee once more - not an ideal surface for a sharp quill, but no one will notice ink stains on a dark brown skirt.

She's almost done. But for some unfathomable reason, the notion of Caspian leaving the window seat and going to bed alone cramps in Addie's stomach. So when he sits straighter and turns toward the bedroom, Addie lays one leg flat.

"Come on then," she mumbles. "Get comfortable."

Caspian's mouth opens and closes before he manages coherency. "Comfortable?"

Addie pats her left thigh without looking up from the paper. "Go on. I'm almost done."

Caspian takes a few minutes to get settled, first with fitting himself between her thighs, then fidgeting his legs until he settles on tucking one foot under his thigh and resting the other on the floor. Addie says nothing as he squirms, his hands caught between resting chastely against his chest or straying to her thighs. When his left hand slides under her skirt, Caspian's hand stalls at her knee.

"I don't mind," Addie says. She likes the weight of his head on her leg and his hand on her skin, though she bites away the admission.

Caspian's fingers find her thigh and curl through the soft hair there - not gripping, just resting. When he stops shifting, Addie balances the parchment on her knee and lets her left hand stray to his hair. It's softer than it has any right to be.

She can allow herself this luxury. One day, she'll cherish the memory.

By the time Addie solves the equation, Caspian is snoring into her skirt with his face precariously close to the heat between her legs. Addie can ignore her body's wants so much easier when they keep their distance, when she lets the weight of the almosts remind her how to brace for the worst.

At least Caspian's asleep now. He needs his rest.

Addie sets aside the paper and quill. She waits a few minutes before waking him so she can smooth the sparse tangles from his hair. So she can let herself savour his heat, his skin, the curve of his jaw, without starting something she can't finish.

For now, his silken hair between her fingers is enough.

A/N: Poor dears; they have such different responses to stress. What do you think Caspian was thinking in that last scene?

Chapter 19 Preview:

"Tell me if I hurt you," Caspian murmurs. "Or if I'm about to."

Addie nods again and pushes his hand tighter. "I will. Go on."