A/N: Full disclosure, I edited this chapter high as a kite on allergy meds so if you spot any mistakes, please do let me know so I can fix them! I did my best, but the ol' brain is a bit fuzzy at the moment.
Chapter 46 Content Warnings: brief violence, brief bodyshaming, mentions of class differences
Chapter 46: we'll find a way
Addie
Aslan's edict travelled fast; the entire city is alight with chaos when they arrive, the noise echoing across the plain and growing louder as they approach. Caspian sends a gryphon ahead to investigate. He hasn't let her out of his sight all morning.
She hasn't said two words to him since last night. What's left to say but truths she's not ready to speak yet?
Addie told herself she'd stay calm and composed, but the cacophony of the city and her own heart burrows under her skin, a deep itch pulling her faster yet urging caution. By the time the gryphon returns, they're a half-hour's walk away - slower going than it should be, since they're advancing in formation.
"The city is in pandemonium, Your Majesties," says the gryphon. "Soldiers patrol the castle, but to little avail. The people far outnumber any guard." Its voice is raspy, either from the wind or because an eagle's face and neck aren't particularly suited to human speech.
"How many soldiers?" asks Caspian.
"Six companies, Sire. Though it didn't seem they all maintained their posts," the gryphon says. "Half the soldiers are making a good effort to maintain order, though I can't say in whose favour."
Addie leans around Caspian's shoulder. As soon as they left the shelter of the trees, he's insisted she stay behind him.
"And the other half?" she asks.
The gryphon blinks eagle eyes down at her. "Part of the crowd."
Caspian takes her hand, and she hates how comforting his touch is, even still.
"We have Aslan and regular city folk aren't trained fighters," says Caspian. "I doubt they'll attack."
"We'll be outnumbered if they do," Addie mumbles.
"They won't," Caspian insists. "But we're ready."
They reach the city gates at high noon. The heat usually drives people indoors, but the streets are choked with onlookers craning to see their new king and muttering among themselves. Though some offer scattered cheers, the Narnian and Telmarine procession mostly brings an uneasy quiet.
By some miracle, luck, or sense of self-preservation, no one attacks.
"Stay close to me," Caspian murmurs into her ear as they approach the castle bridge.
"Any closer and I'll step on you." Addie tries to let go of his hand - she doesn't need it but he will if anyone attacks - but Caspian holds her fast, his sun-warmed shoulder plate radiating heat onto her cheek.
To her surprise, the bridge guards give no trouble. They take one look at Caspian and salute, their heels clicking to attention.
How accommodating.
Addie eyes them as Caspian takes the lead with Aslan, flanked by the Kings and Queens, Lord Scythley, and General Glozelle. And her, stuck to Caspian's heels like a stray pup.
The castle courtyard is ringed with the castle's occupants - servants, apprentices, soldiers armed and at attention. Addie cranes her neck looking for Perla and the maids, but the Kings and Queens are in the way.
Addie whirls as metal clangs off to her left, but by the time Caspian angles in front of her, his grip sweaty and bruising, Glenstorm has the soldier disarmed. She bumps into Queen Lucy and mumbles an apology before more swords ring out. Caspian drops her hand and draws his dagger, his body an impassable shield.
Aslan's roar splits the air.
Addie claps her hands to her ringing ears, wincing. That roar could split stone, mountains, the world itself in two.
Silence falls - or, she thinks it does. A high-pitched whine clouds her hearing, but she doesn't see any more swords swinging. Addie's hands drop from her ears, surprisingly clean. She expected blood and ruptured eardrums.
Caspian steps forward, standing tall and proud like there aren't soldiers with crossbows who could snap from their stupor and shoot him at any moment. Lord Scythley and General Glozelle follow him, a show of support.
"Miraz is dead," Caspian says. "Lay down your swords, and you shall not be harmed."
Murmurs ripple, a heavy breath of consideration. Then metal rings on stone as Miraz's stragglers drop their weapons and bend the knee.
Addie's breath rushes out. She's in no hurry to see battle's bloody aftermath again.
Caspian mutters with Glozelle and Scythley, and then he's calling orders right and left, directing the Narnians and Telmarines alike under his command, something about securing the castle, what to do with the resisters - military directions Addie barely follows.
She weaves through the crowd, focused on one singular destination.
The kitchen.
Addie shoves past two Telmarine soldiers, ducks under a minotaur's arm and there they are, four familiar faces amid the chaos. Alfonso's already rushed to Lola, both of them laughing as he spins her round and round. Even Perla wears something close to a smile, though it morphs into a scowl when Addie calls her name.
Surprisingly, Claudia is the first to yell for her.
Addie sprints through the crowd and flies into Claudia's arms, laughter bubbling despite how they left things. They didn't speak much after Anna disappeared.
"You're alive, you're all alive," Addie babbles, smiling wide as a fool as she runs frantic hands over Claudia's arms and reaches for Sellea. The youngest maid takes longer to hug her back, but Perla has plenty to say.
"- absolute mess you left, have you any idea how incompetent your replacement -"
"It's good to see you too," Addie laughs through tears.
A stinging whack breaks Addie's laugh into a yelp.
"Disappear like that again and you'll spend a month on dish duty, new ladyship or no," Perla snaps, wagging the spatula right under her nose. The handle has a new bend and a fresh scorch mark at the tip. Perla swats her again, the spatula cracking on her arm.
Addie rubs the sore spot, grimacing through a smile and a heart full to bursting. Perla huffs, her frown deepening.
Perla rarely allows hugs, and Addie knows better than to invite one. But today, Perla yanks Addie forward and crushes her in a rib-bruising hug, filling Addie's nose with the scent of ale barm and fresh-baked bread.
"I won't," Addie says, eyes stinging and breath short. "Promise."
"I'll hold you to that." Lola spins Addie by her shoulders and holds her too tight to breathe.
Addie buries her face in Lola's shoulder and sobs.
"Thank the gods," Addie sniffles. "I missed you."
"Missed, hmph!" Perla taps her own palm with her beloved spatula. "Don't think I won't smack that prince for his part in this."
"King," Addie says over Lola's shoulder. "Technically."
Above the din, someone else shouts her name, sharp with concern.
Addie disentangles herself from Lola and stands on tiptoes, searching. Caspian is at the double doors already, frantically scanning the sea of humanity. His shoulders visibly drop in relief when he spots her.
"Addie!" he calls again, already jogging down the steps and pushing through people who don't part for him quickly enough.
"Go on," Lola says. "You know where to find us."
Perla waves the spatula as Addie hesitates. "I expect your replacement within the week, you hear?"
"No need," Addie says quickly. "I'll be here first thing tomorrow."
Perla scoffs, and a warm hand grabs Addie's shoulder.
"You!" Perla points the spatula past Addie and at Caspian. "You take care of this girl, understand?"
Caspian's arm snakes around her waist, reassurance as much as a public claim.
Public, where the entire castle can see.
Addie's head swims, caught between a rush of strange pride and the years-old instinct to hide from prying eyes.
"I will," Caspian says, proud and sure. In her ear, just for her, he murmurs, "Later. I promise you'll have time with them later."
Before Addie can ask when exactly later is, Caspian's guiding her through the crowd, up the stairs, and through the ornate double doors.
Inside, Addie discovers a new definition of chaos.
Caspian's men clear the onlookers - maids in sooty uniforms, manservants, straggler soldiers with their hands up in surrender - but the hall is choked with too many curious people. A matronly woman in a starched white cap cuts through like a knife.
"Lady Prunaprismia has not left her chambers," she says. "Shall I have her moved, Sire?"
Caspian goes still.
Lady Prunaprismia is in mourning, Addie realises. And she has a weeks-old baby.
"No," says Caspian. "She is not to be disturbed. My old quarters will do in the interim, and ready the chambers directly adjacent."
The matron's steely grey eyes lock on Addie and travel down to her and Caspian's joined hands. "Just so," she says. "Come along, dear."
"But first, I -"
"Much to do, my lady. Come."
My lady? This again?
Caspian squeezes her hand. "I'll find you soon."
Addie tries to hold on, but the woman yanks, and Caspian slips out of reach.
"Stop, wait, I -"
With a shake, the woman shushes her harshly. "Keep up, your ladyship!"
Addie's stomach churns a warning as she's dragged past gawking servants - faces she's seen in passing for years, clad in coarse cloth she knows like her own skin. Caspian mentioned the coronation would take place immediately, but why is she needed? She shouldn't be here, stumbling along as a stranger calls her "my lady." Perla will need help.
When the matron rounds a corner into a hall only half-choked with bystanders, Addie yanks free.
"I'm not a ladyship anything; I'm just a maid."
"Nonsense, my lady." The older woman leans in, her eyes sharpening. "Not here," she hisses, fingers closing around Addie's wrist. "We'll discuss this in your chambers."
Her chambers?
The weight of too many stares force Addie's feet to move, following the woman through the winding halls, past torches and tapestries and a slowly dwindling sea of faces. Maids don't get their own chambers.
You shouldn't act as a maid. You aren't.
I'd like you there. At my side.
Since when are lovers public, especially a royal's lover?
"I didn't get your name," Addie says.
They turn into a familiar hallway and the woman palms open a dark wooden door - the same style as Caspian's door, peat-black wood with short decorative spikes and an iron handle.
"Nadni," she answers. "I presume this is to your liking?"
Addie blinks at the sprawling, too-large, too-empty room. It's pleasant enough, but what does liking a room have to do with anything? Rooms aren't there to be liked; they're a simple resting place. She liked Caspian's room because he was in it. Even when he wasn't, the room felt pensive and bookish, like him.
This room is stiff with the castle chill, the bed too big, the white canopy like a shroud hiding loneliness and starched sheets. The wardrobe - polished walnut, ornately carved with eagles - stands guard, dwarfing the matching chest at the foot of the bed. The window ledges are stuffed with a constellation of gilded trinkets, and the small desk in the corner is bare. Thankfully, the bookshelf next to it is not.
Addie rubs her wrist. "I don't need my own room."
Nadni arches a greying eyebrow. "Nonetheless, you're to have it. You are the prince's lover?"
"I…"
Is she? She was, but is she now?
Addie nods silently. Part of her still wants to be, and for now, that's enough.
Nadni sniffs, lips pursed. "Then you'll be the king's lover in a few hours. Has he made an offer to you?"
"Offer of what?" Addie asks.
Quick as a viper, Nadni takes one hand, then the other, scrutinising her bare fingers. "Marriage, child. Has he asked for your hand?"
Addie pulls away, her heart wringing. "No, it's… it's not like that."
With a hum, Nadni's gaze sweeps her up and down.
"Well," she says. "I suppose kings must have their dalliances. For now, pull yourself together. Your ladies' maids will arrive soon to prepare you." Nadni plucks Addie's sleeve, stained rust-brown and green from weeks at war and too few washings. "What's this mess you're wearing?"
Addie glances down to her travel-worn pants and soiled shirt. "Dresses were hard to find."
"As was proper bathing, clearly," says Nadni with a sigh. "Wait here, I'll send for a bath."
Well, a bath would be nice. Addie sinks onto the chest by the bed the second Nadni clangs the door closed.
So much for being the king's secret lover - now the whole castle knows. She should've asked the Queens less about royal duties and more about royal lovers.
Surely nothing much will change. She probably has her own room so Caspian can warm her bed when he wishes and still have his privacy.
She doesn't want her own room. She should be in the kitchen, with Perla and Lola and -
Maybe she shouldn't go to them. She abandoned them, and put them in danger well before that. What right does she have to barge in like she did nothing wrong, like she still belongs there?
Addie swallows. Perla said to find her a replacement. Is that all she can do now? Fill Perla's staff with maids better than her, more loyal than her - maids smart enough to stick to their stations?
If finding staff is the most she can do, she should find extras too. Perla is short-staffed, and maybe she'll let Addie back into the kitchen to help train the newcomers. Even a week would… she could stomach a goodbye then.
They'll be better off.
Nadni bustles back in with three other maids - two hauling a bathing bin and the third with a basket of clothes.
"Up, up, let's get you presentable."
Addie has no time to ask what, precisely, presentable entails before Nadni strips her out of her clothes, leaving her shivering naked in the middle of the room. A shift flutters over Addie's head when embarrassment strikes, and by then Nadni is sparking the fireplace to life.
"Fetch water and a pot, and don't forget the patterns!" Nadni spins Addie to face the fire and throws a measuring tape around her middle. "Stand straight, shoulders back."
Over the next hour, Nadni's measuring tape becomes intimately acquainted with every limb and length of Addie's body as maids heat water over the fireplace and slowly fill the bathtub. Addie suspects she's about to be scrubbed as thoroughly as Perla's pots. As welcome as a good cleaning would be, and as trifling as modesty or vanity are when four people just saw her in nothing but her own skin, Addie eyes the soap nervously.
It's not the soap she's used to; that was a harsh, yellow-white square block. This soap is round and much whiter, marbled with soft pink. Pink, of all things. Why bother with colouring soap? Is it like the fancy script in Caspian's Telmarine books - pretty but only meant to distract from unpleasantness? Do they know when to stop scrubbing, when to wash out her hair so it won't break?
Asking Nadni won't net useful answers; the woman's muttering to herself, scribbling numbers on a parchment as she pokes and prods at Addie's arms, shoulders, the curve of her waist - any part of her that falls outside the dresses held up her figure.
Addie never bothered fussing over her shape before, never stopped to wonder if her hips were pleasing or if her arms were too wide or her shoulders too broad. Why fret aesthetics when her body does nearly everything she asks it to do?
But Nadni mutters measurements and scowls at her figure like Addie's body presents a vexing puzzle rather than a useful vessel that does everything Addie needs.
"Not a delicate bone in your body, is there?" Nadni mutters after a particularly harsh poke at Addie's ribs.
Addie squirms and scratches at the sore spot. "What's the use of that?"
"Tash save us." Nadni snaps off Addie's shift, pushes her into the steaming bath, and empties a bucket of water on her head. "I don't suppose you know how to ride sidesaddle? Curtsy? Greet a lord and his lady?"
Addie splutters around a mouthful of water. "No handshakes, I assume?"
"Absolutely no handshakes, whatever the devil those are, if you - Nia, where is the comb? And fetch the lavender oil!" Nadni lathers the soap over Addie's face and neck with all the gentleness of a moody minotaur.
Addie spits out bitter suds in the half-second before Nadni dunks her face under the water.
"- absolutely no warning, least he could have done was -"
Three unceremonious dunkings and buckets of water later, Nadni is pulling a comb through her hair while two of the others scrub Addie's skin pink and raw. The soap glides over her like a caress, leaving the soft scent of roses and lavender instead of the sticky film of harsh servants' soap.
"- hardly anything will fit - Brenna, fetch my sewing kit -"
"Can't I -" Another dunking.
"- couldn't have waited one day, yes do let out the sleeves. Find the powder and rouge!"
Addie squints, shampoo bubbles stinging her eye. "I don't need those either."
"Quiet!" Nadni wipes the errant shampoo trail and splashes Addie's eye clean. "Tash, have you ever been presentable?"
Delicate hands envelop hers and a brush scrubs under her nails, catching a hangnail, a bright sting of pain.
Addie bites back a hiss. If they'd let her wear one of her old dresses, she'd present just fine.
Nadni flicks her ear in between scalp-tearing tugs of the comb. Apparently, she said that out loud.
"Forget the old things. Can't be dressed in rags at the king's side."
Addie winces when suds burn a cut on her knee. "Rags? They weren't -"
"No, no, green or blue!" Nadni shouts at another maid hovering by the door. "The king will be in gold! Find out which undershirt."
The maid curtsies and leaves in a whirl of red and purple and silver.
With a final splash and rinse, Nadni declares her clean.
"As close as you'll get, I suppose," she sighs, her hand like a claw as she yanks Addie from the relative modesty of the bath.
Addie stands dripping water and shivering, teeth chattering, the stone floor like ice under her bare toes. Nadni throws a robe over her - too long, shoulder seams hanging halfway to her elbows, but the plush garment is warm.
"This really isn't necessary," Addie says.
Nadni ignores her and holds up a shift. It's thin, a brighter white than any of Addie's old clothes, and embroidered flowers ring the neckline.
Addie clutches the robe tighter around herself. Why dress her up like a noble when she's not?
Nadni strips off her robe. "Pray to the gods this fits… no warning, quite rude…"
The embroidery itches, but the silk shift sits on her skin like a gentle breeze.
Too soft, Addie decides. Thread count too high, it's too thin, it'd never last a day in Perla's kitchen. Why enjoy the flow of cotton as soft as silk when one wrong move will tear it? It's too fragile to love.
Addie clenches her teeth and keeps quiet as Nadni stuffs her into a forest-green dress - velvet, softer on the outside than inside. Just get through this, play the pleasant lover and let them stuff her into 9 finery. Don't cause trouble, Addie thinks as they coat her face in fine pale powders that make her sneeze, paint her lips darker pink, dab reddish cream into her cheeks, tie half her hair with gilded ribbon and leave the rest flowing freely down her back.
Don't spoil this day for him.
Caspian's waited his entire life to be king. She will deal with the complications of… everything else later.
Finally, she'll see him in a crown.
Caspian
Years he wondered about this day. Years, he feared it would never come. Now he is steps away from the council chambers his uncle left half-emptied. Now every chair is full, every feasible corner of the room occupied. Aslan is at his side, and the Kings and Queens of Old will stand on the steps in blessing.
Caspian swallows nerves, drumming restless fingers on his knuckles. This, the triumph he should be enjoying, settles heavily on his shoulders and aches under his ribs, pulses like fire in his veins. He's not ready.
It's for that very reason I know you are.
Caspian straightens his shoulders. Aslan doesn't make mistakes. If Aslan believes he can do this, he has no business doubting it.
He will give his best - try his best. He can promise that much.
General Glozelle pushes open the door, and the smooth stone floor suddenly stretches miles long beneath his feet. Caspian waits to let Aslan enter first. But Aslan stops too, his great golden eyes piercing.
Caspian finds his balance and begins the long, straight walk to the throne.
The nobles' crests hang above the chairs, the four chandeliers burn bright, and the chairs are evenly split between the remaining lords (two fewer, after the battle at the How and Beruna). Doctor Cornelius awaits on the third stair, with the jewelled Telmarine crown in his hands and the gilded throne at his back, back-lit by a wash of afternoon sunlight. It only seemed fitting that his tutor would place the crown on his head; he spent the past decade preparing Caspian for this day. Neither of them ever imagined Aslan would preside over it.
He finds Addie exactly where he asked she be - the closest chair right of the throne. He nearly loses his breath at the sight of her, dressed in dark green that sets off her dewy skin. Daily sparring brought a summer's tan to her cheeks, and now after a bath that surely entailed far too much scrubbing (his skin is still prickled raw, his formal shirt chafing), she's glowing. The look of nobility suits her, though she keeps fidgeting with her gold-trimmed sleeves.
Addie looks like a lady, but the trappings of finery are just that - trappings, fabric, fancy thread and velvet sleeves. Beneath it all lies Addie - infuriating, confounding, lively, untameable Addie, with sharp hazel eyes that see past this pomp and ceremony. Her gaze peels away the layers of golden overcoat, green undershirt, the looming weight of the crown, and renders him only a young man, unsure, trying to be enough, terrified he never will be and all the faith Doctor Cornellius and the Kings and Queens and Aslan have placed in him will be for nothing.
She has always stripped him bare, left him with nothing but himself.
But then Addie smiles - soft, hesitant, a barely there curl of her lips, but she smiles, and her eyes are gentle.
There's a rightness in how she looks at him. A certainty, steadiness beneath everything he's put her through and everything she's put him through.
Somehow, his doubt quiets. Because if Addie can still look at him like she's happy for him, he can be happy, too.
Caspian breathes deep, his steps echoing on stone.
He's already commissioned the ring. When she's ready, it will be, too.
Until then, it's enough to have her here.
When the tips of his boots reach the first stair, Caspian stops and kneels. Aslan pads up the stairs, towering over Doctor Cornelius.
"Caspian, tenth of your name," says Aslan. "Do you swear to govern the creatures and peoples of Narnia as a true king, such that man and beast may live in peace?"
Caspian thought to bow his head, but hardly a moment after he's bent his neck, an overwhelming urge to look up lifts his chin. He's not swearing to the stairs.
"I will."
"Will you cause law and justice, in mercy, to be executed in all your judgments?"
"I will."
Aslan's breath drifts across his face, washing him in all the wild warmth of the Narnian summer sun. "Then rise as King of Narnia, Lord of Cair Paravel, and Emperor of the Lone Islands."
Doctor Cornelius steps forward, his robe whispering over stone, and settles the crown firmly on Caspian's head. It sits heavier than he thought, though he should've expected a towering circle of gold and gems would be weighty. Caspian wonders where the jewels originated, who his ancestors plundered them from. He wonders if it's normal for the crown to lean to the left, for Doctor Cornelius to right it and press it more firmly onto his head.
Caspian wonders if his trying will be enough, but he hopes, too. He has hope he will be enough.
Caspian rises on stiff legs. He bows to Aslan, ascends the stairs, and looks at last on the throne where his father once sat. Even with the Kings and Queens lining the stairs, the king's chair looks lonely, towering in all its ornate grandeur lit by the sunlight streaming through the window.
Caspian sits in the throne of his ancestors, where he can correct so many centuries of wrongs.
His eyes find Addie immediately. And as the lords bow - Telmarines and the soon-to-be installed Narnians, Caspian wonders what Addie might look like in a crown. Would she stand tall at his side, lift her chin and make her words echo in the chamber? Or would she pluck at her sleeves as she did before, whisper a scathing commentary that would test the limits of his self-restraint?
He'd love her regardless. Addie could treat her crown with gravity or levity masking insecurity, and he'd only be grateful to have her beside him, sharing his life.
Caspian meets Addie's eyes as she takes up the call, her eyes glistening.
"Long live the king!"
Soon, Caspian tells himself.
Soon.
A/N: Finally a normal-sized chapter! Don't get me wrong, I love 6k chapters, but it's a relief to have a more manageable 4k sometimes. (I say that with Ch. 47 currently at 5.2k and mocking me.)
So, seems like we're close to a happy ending now that Caspian's crowned. What do you think, are Caspian and Addie ready for a happily ever after yet? 😏
Chapter 47 Preview:
"The least you can do is try to appear pleasing."
Addie shifts on the upholstered chair, fancy fabric creaking. "Pleasing to who, exactly?"
"Lords, ladies, visiting dignitaries. Important allies the king must win." Nadni brushes imagined dust from Addie's shoulder, plucking at invisible lint. "Your only task is to not impede such alliances."