A/N: Back on my bs with a longer chapter. And heads up, I'm currently banging my head against the wall for Ch. 48, so I may push the update schedule a little. I'm trying not to, but since I'm an idiot who likes to rewrite everything until it's Just Right, Ch. 48 might go up in 2 weeks instead of 1. Apologies in advance!
Chapter 47 Content Warnings: baby
Chapter 47: i'll be waiting
Caspian
The afternoon proceeds on schedule, though not entirely to Caspian's liking. Addie is not officially his queen and thus having her beside him on the balcony as he greets his people is not yet appropriate. But when have they ever followed propriety?
A king has greater duty to such things than a prince.
Caspian smiles and waves and tries to look regal and sure of himself. He tries not to think how much easier it would be with Addie's hand in his.
If not for court traditions. If not for this gulf between them.
Next, the parade. In this, at least, he's secured her place at his side; she rides Alvar at his right, her back held straighter than even his. Caspian smiles at the crowd, at her, but nearly every time he looks toward Addie, she's turned away, scanning the crowd as though waiting for its attitude to turn. After years of a tense, snappish city populace, this joyful display must seem strange.
Relief has made his chest light despite the thick, pungent mix of sweat, smithies, and freshly baked honey cakes wafting through the streets, but Addie doesn't do well in crowds. She went three shades paler when Nadni rushed her off through the castle only hours ago.
Addie's riding is much improved, especially for someone who knew nothing of horses before the escape. Her knuckles are pale as they clutch the reins, her hips too stiff as she moves with Alvar's slow trot, but she sits steady and strong in the saddle. If only she lowered her heels; her knees must ache. Caspian calls to her, suggests pushing her heels down and keeping her toes in, but she doesn't hear him over the crowd's cheers.
Did they cheer thus for Miraz?
Caspian remembers to smile, that wider smile that shows his teeth as Doctor Cornelius and King Edmund both reminded him, but part of him watches the crowd's faces too, scouring for signs of insincerity - signs of danger.
He'd be foolish to lower his guard when some soldiers fought in those brief minutes he first arrived in the courtyard. During the Narnians' entry to the city, mutterings and whisperings undercut the cheers greeting Caspian's victory. Now, Caspian finds nothing but jubilee.
Strange, how fickle a crowd can be.
Caspian breathes easier when Destrier prances over the bridge and back inside the castle gate. Here, neither he nor the Narnians are outnumbered. He dismounts in a hurry to rush to Alvar's side and steady Addie as she dismounts and teeters on tiptoes. Her waist heats his hands, sun-warmed velvet stretched taut.
Palms flat, fingers curled at his elbows, Addie braces on his arms.
And she pushes him away. It's steady pressure, subtle, and she's smiling, but distance shadows her eyes as she murmurs thanks.
"The council, Your Majesty." Doctor Cornelius pushes through the crowd of people and horses led away by ruddy-faced stableboys.
Caspian straightens. "Yes, on my way."
When he looks to Addie, she's already turned away. She stares into the sea of snorting horses, Narnians clapping each other on the back, and Telmarines hurrying to the courtyard's edges.
"Ah, Caspian!" His siblings in tow, High King Peter cuts through the crowd and claps Caspian's shoulder. "Ready?"
"Yes," Caspian repeats. He has Narnians to install on the council, knighthoods and lordships to grant, and a kingdom to rebuild.
He lingers, seeking Addie's hand. Instead, he catches her fingertips, sweat-sticky and almost out of reach.
Addie's shoulders lift, a tense line, the same polite smile frozen on her lips.
"Go on then," she says.
Queen Susan reaches past her elder brother. "Aren't you coming?"
Addie's smile flickers. "No. Don't be ridiculous."
She steps back. Caspian grabs for her hand, catches it, traces her knuckles with his thumb, mindful of last night's scrapes.
Maybe he's rushing her. Maybe he's being selfish and presumptuous, but Addie will need to attend these council meetings someday. She should attend today's session, even only from the shadows.
More than that, he wants her there. Caspian has his crown now, his throne and birthright and all the responsibility to go with it, but he is a ship unmoored. He is at harbour with rough waves, held firm by untested ropes, and -
And he wants her with him.
"You should," Caspian says, squeezing her hand. "It will be -"
Addie's hand slips free, her gaze elsewhere - across the courtyard where smoke rises in a thick cloud from the kitchen chimney.
"Good luck," she says.
Caspian swallows. He's pushed her enough these last two days. If he pushes too hard…
"Tonight," he calls as Doctor Cornelius tugs him away.
Addie watches him go, her mouth a pinched line, and says nothing.
"Victorious as you have been, Your Majesty, you cannot expect this council that has existed long before you or I have lived to undergo such drastic changes within a week."
Caspian refrains from massaging his temples. Lord Donnon was one of the lords most inclined to his uncle's machinations, though not counted among Miraz's inner circle. Caspian spent many a council session before the war arguing with Lord Donnon's harsher tendencies toward the general populace – higher taxes, increasing the city guard, squashing border disputes with armies rather than diplomacy.
"I recognise the difficulty in changing tradition, Lord Donnon," says Caspian. "But it does no good to Narnia to let so many empty chairs continue gathering dust. This is not only a country of men."
Moreover, in a few years, Caspian will shrink the council to a small circle of his most trusted advisers – predominantly Narnians. Aslan warned him that the lords would find every excuse to delay the necessary changes to return Narnia to a kingdom of Narnians.
The Kings and Queens sit quietly on either side of him - present for support, but this is his fight, as High King Peter put it.
Lord Donnon lifts his chin before glancing to the Narnians scattered about the room, stopping before his eyes reach Glenstorm, who towers beside the chair Addie occupied for the coronation.
"If I recall," says Trumpkin, scowling as only Trumpkin can, "you Telmarines managed plenty of drastic changes three hundred years ago."
Lord Donnon sneers. "Not nearly enough."
As a prince, Caspian would have jumped to his feet and scolded Donnon with all the reckless offence of his youth. But now, Caspian straightens his spine against the throne and projects across the chamber.
"Is not this land beneath our feet called Narnia? I will not rule without the wisdom of the Narnians, who knew this land well before our race tried to take it from them. This is no longer my uncle's castle, Lord Donnon, just as Narnia is not the land of the Telmarines. I advise you to remember it."
"Sire -"
"If this new council displeases you," Caspian says, "you are welcome to resign from it."
Mere months ago, Lord Donnon might have laughed. The beginnings of it flash across his face, but Donnon seems to realise all at once that he is no longer looking at a prince marked for disposal.
He is looking up at the new king.
Slowly, as if every inch pains him, Lord Donnon sits down.
Later, Caspian will speak to Aslan about where he intends to send Telmarines unwilling to adapt. Even with only half a dozen Telmarine lords, they might make trouble Narnia can't afford.
Addie
"Sit primly, for Tash's sake!" Nadni swats her shoulders and knees, scowling. "Shoulders back, spine straight, knees together. No, knees together - have you ever sat in a proper chair?"
Addie grits her teeth and tries to stretch and fold and primp herself into an acceptable posture. "Define 'proper.'"
"Don't talk back. Cross your ankles - no, tuck that one behind - yes, I suppose that'll do." Nadni says with overblown disappointment.
Addie looks Nadni in the eyes and slouches. Why should anyone care how she sits?
Nadni is quick to correct, jabbing sharp fingers into muscle until Addie obeys. "In public, sit only like this - hands folded, not - yes, there, better. At least try to look like a lady."
"But I'm not," Addie says. Nadni reminded her of that thrice in an hour, and her scraped knuckles prove the point.
"Regardless, you must act like one. Be silent and sit straight!"
Addie's tongue traces her teeth. What's stopping her from leaving the room entirely? She doesn't have to sit here trying to be something she's not. She could choose to leave.
Nadni arches an eyebrow. Addie lifts her chin and sits slightly straighter.
"Your lack of decorum reflects poorly on your king, not just you."
Addie grits her teeth. She's sitting in a chair, not mocking heads of state.
Nadni heaves a long-suffering sigh. "Try to understand. His Majesty unsettled the city enough by parading those beasts as his army. The least you can do is 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."
"By sitting in a chair?"
Nadni flicks her shoulder, harsh and stinging. "By sitting silently in a chair. A lady's best virtue is her silence."
Addie takes her time smoothing her skirt - fine silk soft as spring air against her palms, hiding an itchy petticoat chafing her legs.
"As you've said, I'm not a lady."
"But you will act like one. As any concubine must."
Concubine?
Addie's stomach rolls. A lady would say nothing, would swallow the insult and sting of bruised pride for the sake of decorum.
Fortunately, she's not a lady.
"Technically," Addie says, "Caspian isn't married. So I'm not a concubine."
Nadni's fingers close like claws on her shoulders, forcing perfect posture until Addie's spine pops.
"What alliance do you think I meant?" she hisses. "Kings must marry, because kings must have heirs. All he requires of you is to please him while you can and stay out of the way."
Pain spikes through Addie's chest, sharp as an arrow.
She doesn't have to listen to this. Nadni is a cranky, pretentious lady-in-waiting, or first lady, or whatever her official title is. Nadni doesn't know Caspian, can't know what he's thinking.
Addie doesn't even know that. Why would Nadni?
But maybe… Caspian has kept her out of his royal way since they met, sent her away, and kept her out of everything important for months.
No. No, Nadni doesn't know what she's talking about.
But Caspian said she was right to leave. He insisted on the tea, drugged her, fully intended never to see her again, and he said she was right.
Addie forces calm breaths. The truth is private; she can decide how much Nadni knows.
Addie locks her muscles into ladylike posture and meets Nadni's hawk-sharp eyes.
"You're right," Addie says. "Of course he has alliances to make."
Nadni lifts an eyebrow.
Addie's lips cut into a smile. "I certainly won't stand in the way when Caspian wants an alliance with the servants. It's admirable, don't you think? A true king of the people."
Nadni's silence stretches.
Addie breathes in, satisfaction curling through her stomach like a vine. She may not know - refuses to guess - what Caspian's thinking, or even what she wants, but Nadni doesn't need to know that. All Nadni needs to hear is that Addie is the king's lover, she has Caspian's heart, and for now that's enough.
The woman taps her foot, as if the sight of Addie's straight posture is an annoyance rather than hard-won - if spiteful - obedience.
"You overestimate yourself."
Addie lifts her chin. "We'll see."
Moments later, footsteps echo from the hall, and then with a knock, Queen Susan enters in a whirl of red and gold skirts.
"Addie, there you are," she says, smiling widely. "How are you settling in?"
Tash, what's the etiquette for queens? If Caspian walked through the door, the proper thing would be to stand and curtsy. Queen Susan's royalty too; surely the rules are the same for kings and queens alike?
Addie pushes up from the chair, scraping the wooden legs on the stone floor, and pretends not to notice Nadni's grimace.
"Perfectly fine," Addie says, curtsying. "What do… um, how do you find the castle?"
Queen Susan's smile softens to graciousness. "Very different from Cair Paravel. It's a beautiful afternoon; won't you join me in a turn around the castle? There are so many new faces, and I've yet to locate the garden."
An escape from Nadni's barbed disapproval? Addie would happily exchange even the training field for Nadni's etiquette lessons. An afternoon with Queen Susan sounds like heaven.
"Yes please," Addie says. "I'd love to."
"You'd be delighted," Nadni corrects.
Addie freezes her polite smile in place. "I would be immeasurably delighted for the honour of a walk through the castle grounds, Your Majesty."
Queen Susan swoops to her side and loops their arms, the most familiar she's ever been.
"Please, just Susan."
Susan is calming company. Polite, unbothered by the curious faces watching them pass, trades quiet small talk when there's nothing to say and speaks graciously but directly when there is.
Far better company than Nadni.
"I was nervous too," Susan murmurs with a brief smile to a curtsying noblewoman. "My first day, it was all so overwhelming. It gets easier."
Addie's neck prickles with awareness. Staring, so much staring. She's spent her life hidden in the kitchen or servant passages, more ghost than girl to these nobles muttering passing pleasantries in their gold-buttoned vests and polished boots, their full velvet and satin skirts embroidered with lace, pearl headdresses, necks and fingers dripping in gold. The Narnians - most often fauns, some talking animals, the occasional minotaur - are the only kind faces to be seen.
Nobles aren't kind. Caspian was the exception.
"Does it ever stop?" Addie whispers. She shouldn't duck her head - don't betray fear, humans prey on weakness the same as wolves. "The staring?"
Susan pats her elbow. "In time. Just keep walking, chin up."
"Any higher and they'll see up my nostrils."
But Addie lifts her chin anyway, if only because Susan breathed a laugh and it's nicer to stretch her legs than sit spear-straight under Nadni's watch.
Susan greets a noblewoman and her round-cheeked, toddling child. They stand watching two servants exchanging a Telmarine tapestry depicting a battle victory and a burning forest with a faded tapestry of four royals chasing a white stag.
Addie bandies polite greetings and tries not to look into the child's dark eyes for too long.
Even so, her tongue burns with mint.
Several introductions later, Susan finally asks a doe-eyed servant about the castle gardens.
"There are only the king's gardens, Your Majesty," says the young woman, curtsying. She doesn't wobble, but she hesitates. "I suppose, if you wish, I…"
"No need," Addie says quickly. Caspian's aunt, Lady Prunaprismia, is still in the king's chambers and she's in mourning with a baby to tend. "Lady Prunaprismia is… I wouldn't want to disturb her."
Susan agrees at once. "Yes, I believe those introductions can wait."
She bids the servant good day and sets off down the hall, tugging Addie with her.
"There're towers, balconies," Addie offers as she falls into step. "Not quite the same, but the air is fresher."
She barely noticed the dense, stone smell of the castle before, but after weeks in Narnia's forests, the air feels thick, weighed with so many bodies confined within the walls. Familiar, but stifling.
The nearest balcony overlooks the main courtyard and sits above the kitchen. The scent of baking bread and roasting meat - venison with rosemary, she thinks - wafts up on a light evening breeze, familiar and distant, so distant. Addie's nose should be filled with sharp yeast, tickling with flour. She should have a knife in her hands, chopped herbs and carrot peelings stuck to her fingers, Perla's voice ringing in her ear.
Here, the sounds of castle life are too quiet. There's no crowd to blend into, no easy companionship, no place to belong. There are the servants and soldiers bustling in the courtyard, Narnians clustered sporadically - thrice as many outside as inside. The hum of scattered conversations, clopping horses, and squeaking carts floats up - and she's not part of it. She's an outsider, an observer.
Addie squints into the sunset, the sun's heat undimmed as it paints the sky red and casts lengthening shadows on the courtyard.
Maybe staying inside the castle wasn't so bad.
Susan's arm slips away as the queen moves to the balcony's edge and rests her elbows on the stones. Addie follows suit and breathes shallower so she'll smell dinner less.
Mercifully, Susan chooses silence over pleasantries. After a dozen or two introductions in one afternoon, Addie's throat is sore, dry from overuse.
Just when she decides to ignore the busy courtyard, she hears him.
Addie's gaze snaps down before she can stop it, and there he is, tan skin splashed gold in the sunset as he speaks with Glozelle and a guard captain, a scroll in his hands. Caspian's head is bare of his new crown, yet he seems… taller, somehow, wider in the shoulders.
He doesn't need to hide anymore. Caspian is king, not a prince marked for death; kings are meant to be seen.
Addie blinks. It… suits him.
"You suit each other."
Addie startles, focus skittering away from Caspian. Queen Susan smiles gently, blue eyes unwavering.
A quick "thank you" would be polite.
The words die on Addie's tongue in a tangle of mint and sedative, a poisonous memory.
Addie clears her throat. That scroll in Caspian's hand might be Marcos' illustrious new salary, signed with the king's seal.
"Dinner's soon," Addie says. "Nadni said something about proper attire."
Susan's brow furrows, but she doesn't ask - either royal manners or mercy.
"Of course."
Addie hurries inside and weaves through hallways to her new room alone.
Caspian
Caspian finally hastens to his chambers well after sunset, after hours of endless organising and politicking and general setting-up of his new regime. Lord Scythley helped wrangle the remaining five lords into quietly accepting the new way of things - a king's council made of twice as many Narnians as Telmarines. Then Caspian spent the evening drawing up the plans for rebuilding Cair Paravel with the Kings, Queens, and Aslan. This may be the castle of his ancestors, but Caspian would rather have the seat of power in a Narnian castle. This one aches too much with the sins of the past.
He has yet to call on his aunt. She has not left her chambers, nor has Caspian's newborn cousin. Caspian has never even laid eyes on this newest member of his family. His last living blood relative.
Now, with the torchlight bright and warm through the halls of a castle finally rightfully his, Caspian wonders if his cousin is a crier or a squirmer, what his cries sound like, how he is with strangers. In another life, Caspian might have known his cousin from birth. Played with him. Trained with him. Knighted him, perhaps, one day.
Caspian should be in his own chambers. He should sleep to prepare for the next long, rewarding day ahead.
He should be with Addie, coaxing out what peace they can carve out together.
Lady Prunaprismia and his cousin are his only family left.
Caspian turns on his heel and makes his way to the king's chambers.
Once, this was his parents' home. Then his aunt and uncle's. Now, only his aunt's. Soon his, though such a thought feels strange and impolite the moment it brushes his mind.
Caspian nods to the guard by the door - a friend of Alfonso's, endorsed by Glozelle - and knocks softly at the door.
At first, only silence greets him. Caspian knocks again, and this time, the door cracks open and there stands his aunt, her eyes slightly red, her chin high, and her gaze proud and strong.
"Caspian," she says. "I did not expect you."
"Neither did I," Caspian answers, his right hand falling awkwardly back to his side. He carefully steps inside as his aunt eases the door wide enough for him to pass.
Caspian asks how she is as they walk to the sitting room - a foolish question, considering the circumstances, but all words but his manners have fled his mind.
Lady Prunaprismia looks away, into the bedchambers she once shared with Miraz.
"Was it you?" she asks after too long a pause.
That pain, he can spare her.
"No," Caspian answers honestly. "Sopespian."
His aunt's frown deepens, though she looks him in the eye properly at last.
"I never liked that one. Conniving weasel."
Caspian bites his tongue against saying that Miraz was conniving as well, and to much deadlier effect than Lord Sopespian. As far as Caspian knows, Sopespian never stooped to fratricide.
"My boy is like you now, Caspian." His aunt's frown tilts into a bitter half-smile. "Fatherless."
Caspian flinches.
"I'm sorry for it," he manages. "I would not wish it on anyone, least of all my own kin." Caspian clasps his hands tightly before him, the cushioned chair stiff behind his knees. It would be rude to sit before his aunt.
"How is he?"
His aunt's eyes soften at the corners, though the tense line of her jaw lingers. "He is well."
"I am glad." Caspian clears his throat as if that could clear away such disquiet between them. "Will you return to your father's house?"
Traditionally, a king's widow would spend six months in mourning, thirty days in heavy mourning. Caspian can't imagine mourning here, amid the hustle and bustle of a new king, a changing world, a castle housing Narnians as well as Telmarines. This place lacks the peace he would wish.
Lady Prunaprismia seems to agree. "By week's end," she answers. "That is what you came for, isn't it?"
"No. No, I wanted…" Caspian's tongue fumbles the clumsy denial. He's not entirely sure why he came here, why he had to visit his aunt now of all days. "I wanted to see if you were well. As well as can be expected."
"As can be expected." Lady Prunaprismia repeats the phrase as if tasting for a lie. "Yes, I suppose that's the best way to put it."
A baby's cry splits the air, sharp and sudden and - if Caspian is honest - entirely welcome. His cousin has quite the voice, rhythmic and shrill.
Caspian follows his aunt to the crib without thinking, and just like that he is looking into the face of his cousin, whose birth started a war.
No, that's not fair; Miraz started the war. Looking into those round brown eyes framed by high, chubby cheeks and a wrinkled brow, Caspian can almost understand why. If this was his own child, he might try to remake the world too, to leave his son a birthright.
Miraz went about it in entirely the wrong way. But perhaps, when Caspian has a child of his own, he will have a Narnia set to rights to entrust them with – a heavy responsibility as much as inheritance.
Lady Prunaprismia holds the babe to her shoulder and pats his back, hushing him. His cries quiet to gurgles and soft whines.
Caspian stands perfectly still. Perhaps he ought to dismiss himself.
His aunt meets his eyes. "Would you like to hold him?"
Caspian hesitates, face heating. "I… don't know how."
A babe is a delicate thing, and he knows nothing of such matters.
Someday, he will need to.
Lady Prunaprismia lowers the baby to lie in her arms, making a cradle of her own. The child's head nestles in the crook of her left elbow, body supported by her arm, hand cupped under the bottom. Her right arm acts as the cradle's side, a half-wall between the baby and the rest of the world, as her hand supports the back.
"Start like this," she says, hushed. "You must always support his head."
Caspian nods mutely.
Is it even right for him to touch this child with hands that came so close to killing its father?
His aunt approaches, eyes fixed on her son. A squeaky yawn echoes in the small room. Caspian barely hears it past his thundering pulse as he awkwardly extends his right arm, bent at the elbow. His left hovers, caught between completing the circle and closing it.
The baby coos, brown eyes blinking blearily up at him, and then Caspian is holding his cousin.
He's a tiny, ruddy-cheeked baby with a black wisp of hair curled over his forehead - a fragile, soft, and tiny human who smells like clean linen and spiced ointment. This child, the last blood family he has.
The child his uncle tried to kill him for.
Caspian swallows. It was not the child's fault.
Lady Prunaprismia hovers, hand by the baby's neck. Her floral perfume tickles Caspian's nose, tempting a sneeze.
"What's his name?"
Lady Prunaprismia fidgets with her son's nightcap.
"The announcement was to be next week," she says, a finger tracing her baby's ruddy cheek. "He would have been Miraz II. A new dynasty."
Caspian regards his cousin's round face, his wide eyes and cherub hands, one fisted in Caspian's shirt. Miraz seems too harsh a name for such a small, innocent thing.
"And now?"
His aunt sighs softly, stilling.
"I loved my husband, but these past weeks… I have learned he did terrible things." Lady Prunaprismia looks up, and her eyes are moist. "I am sorry for them."
Caspian blinks. All these years and she didn't know her husband was a monster, a murderer? How could she not?
Is love so blind, or was Miraz that accomplished a liar?
A bubbled whine cuts through Caspian's thoughts. His cousin's face pinches, tiny hands waving in the air as he fusses.
Caspian gives the babe back to its mother in a hurry.
Perhaps his cousin sensed the blood on his hands.
Caspian tries to dismiss himself as Lady Prunaprismia tucks her child into the cradle, but she stops him.
"One moment," she murmurs. "I have something for you."
She disappears into the bedroom, rustles around, and returns with a pile of fabric in her arms.
"These were your mother's. Perhaps your wife - in the future - might have need of them."
His mother's?
Caspian breathes shallow and swallows, chest burning. "How did you… after all this time…?"
Lady Prunaprismia adjusts the stack of dresses, and Caspian snaps to his senses, rushing to relieve her of the weight.
"My husband wanted them destroyed," she says. "I didn't feel right about it."
Caspian swallows again as the dresses settle into his arms, an array of colours and fabrics - gauzy blues, purple velvets, rich red and green silks, fur mantles, gold and lace embroidery. Not a full trousseau, but enough to begin one.
"Thank you," Caspian says quietly. "Did Miraz…?"
His aunt shakes her head. "I don't believe so. Your mother was sick with grief, not poison." A sad smile flickers. "You were only a babe, but she always said you were so like your father."
Fabric crinkles in his hands. He was too much like his father, then; a painful reminder that worsened her grief.
"Thank you, Aunt," he manages, and turns to go before his watery eyes spill.
How can mere thanks be enough, when his aunt just gave him a piece of the family he was too young to know?
"Stay here as long as you wish," Caspian says, half-turning. "Truly, I'll ensure you're not disturbed if you don't want to be. But you needn't stay confined either."
Lady Prunaprismia stands taller, shoulders straight and chin high. "Thank you, Caspian, but I will return to my father's house by week's end. There are…" Her voice cracks. "There are too many memories here."
Caspian nods; that, he understands. The castle has never been quiet, especially not now. It's not a good place to grieve.
"I'll send servants to help gather your things."
The door clicks a hollow echo as he leaves, his mother's dresses heavy with memories he never got to have.
By the time Caspian reaches his room, it's nearing midnight. Habit takes him past his bed and into his old study, his steps quick and too eager, but he hasn't seen her since the parade and all he wants is -
His study is dark, and the window seat is empty.
Caspian stalls in the doorway, staring at the undisturbed cushion and perfectly plumped pillows. The seat is barren of books, Addie's stockpile gone.
She's been avoiding him for days. He shouldn't be surprised.
Caspian closes the study door behind him and changes into his nightclothes, worn soft by use. Addie's likely in her own room, asleep after a tumultuous day. Clearly, she wants to be alone.
This differs from nights he waited for her as a worried prince, terrified the nights she didn't visit meant she was locked in the dungeon, or worse.
He is king, Miraz is gone, the Narnians are here, and he personally met and approved every military leader from generals to the captains of the guard.
Addie is fine. If she wanted to spend the night together, she'd be here.
Caspian tosses in his soft, warm, lonely bed for an hour before his patience breaks and sends him into his study, pacing in the dark.
He just needs to see she's alright. That's all, just see her asleep in her new bed, covers pulled under her chin, safe and warm. He won't wake her, but he needs to hear her breathing, see her chest rise and fall, hear her occasional mumbles.
On his way out, Caspian's toe catches something by the bookshelf door. A forgotten paper, perhaps old notes trampled by soldiers?
When he bends down, his fingers brush leather.
Caspian picks up the bookmark he gave to Addie months ago and traces the embossed edges. He made sure it was a simple design, a border of two interwoven, unbroken lines and nothing else. Addie must have dropped it in the escape.
Clutching the bookmark to his chest, Caspian pads to Addie's room in his sock feet, waiting for a patrol to pass and clinging to the shadows, though there's no reason to anymore.
Doctor Cornelius assured him these habits will fade with time and enough proof he doesn't need them.
Caspian palms open Addie's door - carefully, in case the hinges squeak - and finds an empty bed staring back at him. The white bed curtains are closed, but there's a gap where they meet and he sees no one.
The bookmark's edge bites into Caspian's palm. He parts the curtains to be sure and stares at the undisturbed sheets and ruffled nightgown laid flat, his arm trembling. Where has Addie gone now? For Lion's sake, can't she stay put for one night -
She's fine. She might've gone for a nighttime stroll - breathe, he has loyal guards - or she's visiting the maids, or – breathe, she's safe - or he's in the wrong room.
A soft grumble cleaves through the rising tempest in his skull. Caspian hurries around the bed and Lion, there she is. Addie made a window seat of the stone sill with a blanket and two pillows, and there she slumbers in a silk shift, half her hair spread over her face. Her right arm hangs off the sill's edge, Courtly Etiquette for Lords and Ladies face-down on her stomach.
Caspian tucks a soft curl behind her ear. If Addie wanted to read in a window seat, why didn't she come to his study?
Addie's forehead creases. With a sigh, she turns into his hand, her breath a warm puff on his wrist.
He wanted to ask how she's settling in, what she needs, gauge what she imagines for their future, but he can wait. It's been a long day, and they're both exhausted.
Better to wait until tomorrow.
Caspian plucks up the book, marks Addie's place with her bookmark, and leaves it on the crowded nightstand beside a pile of trinkets Addie moved from the window sill.
Addie doesn't wake as he takes her into his arms and carries her to bed. She mumbles something unintelligible when her head meets the pillow and Caspian pulls the covers up to her chin, but her eyes never open.
Caspian traces the curve of her cheek. He could climb into bed with her; sleeping alone after such a weighty, busy day sounds lonely at best, cruel at worst.
If Addie wanted to sleep in the same bed, she would've come to him.
Caspian closes the bed curtains and leaves her in peace.
In time, she'll forgive him. He must be patient, can't push her too hard, can't ask too much. When he gets on one knee, he will be asking so much of her; he ought to give her time to adjust to castle life and her new station and -
Addie will forgive him; she just needs more time.
He can give her time.
He'd give her anything.
A/N: They're very good at fragile, shatterpoint peace... When do we think it'll snap?
Chapter 48 Preview:
"I'm not a lady."
"Rumour is you'll be more than that soon." Claudia sets her bowls, the wide one full of sifted flour and the smaller one empty, beside Addie's floured workspace and stands close, their hips brushing. "Is it true?"