A/N: I'm a little sorry for this one, not gonna lie. My beta reader yelled at me profusely. š Buckle up, we're in for a RIDE this chapter!
We're also only a few chapters from the end of Monachopsis. Any guesses on how Part II will end?
Chapter 49 Content Warnings: mention of murder/death, mention of attempted assault, sexual content (and as an unhealthy coping mechanism), choking, mention of a flashback, mention of contraception, mention of pregnancy
Chapter 49: break me better
Caspian
He thought he knew the worst of Marcos.
He was wrong.
Caspian stands frozen, cheek stinging as Addie shouts, her voice hoarse and cracking. She says Marcos intended to drag her to a marriage altar - something about throwing seeds down a well - and he smeared her mouth with her tears as he said everyone but the two of them were dead.
That wasn't the bargain. Marcos was only supposed to get her out, protect her, kill for her. Nothing more.
Will they consider Addie their own?
I'll make sure of it.
Addie's name falls from his lips like a prayer. He never intended that; he never dreamed Marcos would attempt -
"You made me his prize for murdering my sister!" Addie cries, one arm tight around her waist, a red-purple splotch on her wrist. "You sanctioned this!"
The blood drains from Caspian's face. "I didn't, Addie! I didn't know!"
"You would've done it anyway," Addie interrupts, face streaked with tears she won't let him wipe. "You still would've sent me with him if you knew he'd try to bed me by force, wouldn't you?"
"No!"
Caspian charges forward and throws his arms around her; let Addie shove him off if she wants, but he can't stand here as she cries and trembles and accuses him of suchā¦ such callousness. He was desperate, shaken, terrified of losing her, but surely he wouldn't have chosen the same had he known what Marcos would do.
Would he?
The path he chose ended with Addie alive. Furious, hurt, but alive. If he'd kept her in the How, Addie might have survived all the same, bruised from falling stones rather than hands.
Or she would be dead beneath the rubble.
Caspian clutches her tighter, lets Addie pound her fists on his chest. Strangely, she's not pushing away.
Perhaps if he'd sent her with a Narnian - but no, they never could've made it past Miraz's army and into the Southern Mountains. To the west lies Telmar, a former Calormen colony and the Telmarines' homeland. Aslan was gone, and he couldn't have asked the Kings and Queens to get Addie to safety.
Doctor Cornelius survived the cave-in. Addie would have been safe with him.
Addie's fists slow, her breathing a rasp.
"No," Caspian says again. "If I'd known Marcos wouldā¦ I never would have sent you with him."
Addie's fist meets his chest half-heartedly. "Liar," she sobs, her tears warm on his neck. "You fucking liar."
Caspian cradles her head, fingers tangled in Addie's curls, kisses her brow. Addie is the one who deals in half-truths, not him.
"When have I ever lied to you?"
Addie sniffles, fingers curling into his shirt. "Say I wouldn't survive. What then?"
Caspian covers her fist and joins their hands over his heart.
"You can't askā¦ That's not a fair question."
Addie's breath shudders. "I don't care. Answer it."
Why ask him such an impossible question? He couldn'tā¦ by necessity, by all rights, if he claims to love her - and the ring he commissioned proves he does - he could never have sent her knowing what Marcos would attempt. But to let her stay where she might dieā¦
Caspian swallows past a thick throat and rests his wet cheek on Addie's hair. He breathes her in, fills his chest with reassurance that she's here now. Safe, now.
"I don't know," he whispers. "That choiceā¦ I don't know."
A fresh wave of tears soaks his collar.
"Then you would've," Addie hiccups.
"Stop saying that." Perhaps he ought to be gentler, shouldn't wrench Addie up by her chin, but she must stop.
Is she so determined to think the worst of him?
Addie leans into his fingers and nestles against his palm, her watery gaze unyielding.
If she truly believes he would rather see her violated than dead, why is she not shoving him away? Why does she linger here, let him hold her, let him even touch her, if that is what she believes?
Caspian meets her hazel eyes fiercely. Perhaps Addie only needs reassurance, to see the truth of his love in his face.
"I sent you away to save your life. To ensure I would never be forced to choose between you and Narnia. But had I knownā¦" Caspian exhales, grief sticking in his throat. "I think I could not have made that choice for you."
Addie's brow furrows. "But you did."
"No. I chose your best chance at survival. If the choice was your death or Marcos - anyone - taking advantageā¦" Caspian's stomach churns. "I would've been terrified, but that choiceā¦ if I loved you, I couldn't make it for you."
A shiver wracks Addie's frame.
"I would've stayed," she says. "And you'd let me?"
Does she think so little of him?
Caspian breathes in Addie's hair - hearth smoke and flour warring with a spiced perfume she never wore before - and presses careful fingers to her pulse, reminding himself she's alive, that he made the best decision he could at the time.
"I would have begged you not to," Caspian says. "I would've sent you with anyone else. And if no one but Marcos would take you, I would have put a dagger in your hand and bid you use it the moment you reached safety."
Addie's fist loosens.
"You should have," she says.
If he'd only known.
Caspian squeezes her until his arms ache. He will never, ever leave Addie at another man's mercy again.
"I know. I'm so sorry, Addie."
If it was his choice alone, he'd stay here, unmoving, with Addie in his arms until the next sunrise. The war is over; they're supposed to have time now.
Even kings do not have the luxury of time.
Two sharp knocks break their sore, tentative peace. Before either of them can call out, in bustles Nadni, her angular face fixed in a frown as she taps a finger-thick scroll on her palm.
"I tire of your disappearing acts, Lady - Your Majesty!" Nadni sinks into a deep curtsy. "Forgive my intrusion. Shall I reschedule Lady Adelina's fitting?"
Caspian says nothing. He's decided enough on Addie's behalf.
Caspian cups Addie's wet cheek. "I will stay if you wish it."
Addie shakes her head, her skin pink under his thumb. "You've a kingdom to run."
Caspian fights disappointment. If Addie needs space, he wishes she'd say so without cloaking her preference in consideration for his duties.
"Tonight, then," Caspian murmurs. "Let me come to you tonight."
He must try to fix this wound he gave her, trust he broke far worse than he understood at the time. Addie must let him try, else how will they move forward?
How will Addie ever accept his ring on her finger if she refuses to let him make amends?
A corner of Addie's mouth lifts. "Don't I usually come to you?"
Caspian hesitates. As comforting as it is to come home to Addie after a busy day, his room and study are heavy with memories - much like the castle itself.
If he must make penance, shouldn't he seek her out, rather than the opposite?
But Addie's fingers curl around his wrist, and she has the look of distance and denial, cloaked in formality for the sake of their audience of one.
"I'll meet you here," Addie says. "For old times' sake."
Caspian kisses her knuckles, then her mouth, pressing warm promises into her lips and chasing whatever benediction he can find there.
"As you wish," he whispers. "Tonight."
Addie
The fitting is five torturous hours of standing stone-still while the seamstress lifts fabric after expensive, fluttering, gilded fabric to her body. Addie squirms at the first prick of Sasne's pins, but the silver-haired seamstress who never speaks above a whisper apologises so many times Addie decides never to complain again. A few pricks are nothing; aren't her hands and arms spotted in scars already?
By the time Sasne finishes her measurements, it's time for afternoon tea - a Narnian tradition Caspian's resurrecting, though Queen Susan mentioned teas in England - Spare Oom, in the old stories - too.
It's not entirely unpleasant. Addie finds herself in a sunlit room overlooking the courtyard with Queen Susan, Queen Lucy, and a handful of Telmarine ladies, sipping sweetened leaf water as castle life bustles distantly below.
She's not idling; she's gathering information, making useful acquaintances. Politicking.
A Telmarine lady with a sharp nose and even sharper eyes frowns when Addie chooses honey over a sugar cube for her tea. Addie stirs harder than necessary, spoon clinking in her cup. Neither Nadni nor any of the court etiquette books mentioned nobles might take offence over something as simple as honey.
Queen Susan does most of the talking - she seems to be the politician to Lucy's wide-eyed exuberance. Susan's calm explanations of the new changes slowly ease the noblewomen's tense postures and clipped questions. The ladies don't look quite happy, and Lucy's sugar-sweet, steel-eyed defences of the Narnians make a few shift in their seats, but no one is openly hostile.
Addie tries to commit Queens' smiles and the effortless lilt to their words to memory. They command a certainā¦ presence, a look in their eyes and an edge to their voices that demands consideration. It's fascinating to watch, however much she'd hate to be on the other side of it.
During the war, Caspian sometimes got that look, that tone. Even with her, sometimes.
Dinner passes in a blur of etiquette and tender roast venison, rice pilaf, roasted vegetables, and pillowy rolls she's watched Claudia make a thousand times. Addie coughs to cover a moan at first bite; Tash, she's missed Perla's spices.
She should be in the kitchen. Not here, knowing Perla's red-faced from rushing dinner out the door and the maids are scrubbing dirty pots, sweat-sticky wisps stuck to their brows. She should be helping the first people who gave her a home - making amends for leaving them.
Instead, Addie is here supping at a banquet table under polished chandeliers, trying to carry pleasant conversation and keep up with the politicking. If she hadn't been stuck at a fitting, she could've studied the notes she almost ruined.
Addie considers sneaking down to the kitchen during dessert. She's not in critical negotiations; her last conversation was pondering the history of tapestries. But Doctor Cornelius asks her opinion on a depiction of Ettinsmoor and it would be rude to dismiss herself.
If nothing else, manners are a decent distraction.
Addie curls up to read in her makeshift window seat until her back aches and her fingers are dry from tracing so many words. The half-moon stares back at her, poor illumination for this dry, lifeless book on court etiquette. Reading Caspian's stories was exciting, like an invitation to wander somewhere new. These court books are stilted, too busy telling her what to do to bother making it interesting or explaining the reasons behind these traditions.
She said she'd go to him. For old times' sake.
What is there left to say? Caspian knows everything Marcos tried to do, and he apologised. That's the end of it.
The only thing left to do is move forward.
How can she move forward with this gaping hole in her chest? Something lived there, before: love, anger, pain, regret. Desire. Longing. But now, there's justā¦
Nothing.
It'll pass. This aching emptiness is simply exhaustion after so many changes and uncertainties. Before the war, Caspian's study was a refuge from reality - hallowed peace between four book-lined walls, stolen kisses wrapped in candle smoke and the comforting musk of paper, ink, and polished wood. It can be that again, if she lets it.
No sense sitting here moping; she'll solve nothing hiding behind etiquette books.
Addie throws on her dressing robe over her coarse maid's shift. Nadni would turn purple if she saw this outfit, but let her. If that woman's determined to keep her out of the kitchen, Addie will keep this piece of home close to her heart. The scars on her hands aren't enough; she needs to feel home scratching her perfumed skin.
Habit pushes Addie into the shadows, creeping on slippered tip-toes into the servant passages. It's silly and twice as long as entering through Caspian's bedroom, but a guard's sword jangles as he makes rounds and Addie darts behind a statue on instinct.
In minutes, Caspian's bookshelf door stands stark and familiar before her, a silent sentinel of shared secrets. No need to tremble; the only person on the other side is Caspian.
Addie blinks away the memory of whizzing arrows and the snap of crossbows.
She's being ridiculous. Her head is only swimming because she's breathing too fast, too shallow, because her heart is racing for no good reason.
Addie slips inside and clicks the door shut before she can do something stupid like run.
Caspian jumps up from his desk, quill in hand, a bead of ink pooling at the tip. His dark eyes settle on her heavier than they used to, gentle despiteā¦ everything.
Or perhaps because of everything.
"Addie," he says.
"I never finished," she blurts. Addie wets her lips, fighting a flush of embarrassment. "The book of sea stories. I never finished it."
Caspian's gaze lingers too long, shadowed with too much understanding. He retrieves a leather-bound book with silver lettering and a blue ribbon peeking from its spine and offers it to her.
Addie doesn't mean to brush his fingertips. It's an accident.
Caspian leans closer anyway, expectant.
Waiting.
Addie hesitates. It might help butā¦
What if she can't summon enthusiasm for that either? The last wandering hands she felt belonged to Marcos, and the last time Caspian touched her, it was goodbye.
Caspian's eyes flicker to the window, and he withdraws.
Sometimes, she hates being seen.
Addie scuttles to the window seat and pretends not to notice that Caspian - or Bruna, probably Bruna - arranged the pillows how she likes, three stacked shoulder-high on the left and one on the right to tuck her feet under. She must've been careless, didn't put the pillows back two per side, and Bruna noticed and assumed Caspian wanted them that way.
That's all.
Addie spends half a painstaking hour trying to rediscover normal on a storybook page. The tale of a star descending to guide a sailor adrift at sea should hold her interest - it's romantic, adventurous, honey-sweet with sincerity. Yet, her eyes stray from the tidy calligraphy, tempted by candlelight and a mouth she knows the taste of as well as her own.
It's a reflex trained by this familiar space, the comfort of the plush pillows behind her and Caspian's busy quill filling the silence. He's signing papers instead of notes now, a new rhythm of silence, signature, and the drip of wax, but it feels almost like before. Like temptation, invitation, like holding her breath knowing when she breathes in, her head will fog into desire for him, a craving she can't escape.
Why not give in? This could erase the last time Caspian was inside her. This homecoming might overcome the sting of goodbye and tea, if she lets it.
Caspian clears his throat, tentative but cutting through her self-control all the same. Addie's gaze jumps to his face - humiliating and useless, because Caspian is busy looking at his papers and pressing his ring into a pool of red wax.
"Queen Lucy mentioned dance lessons. Are you enjoying them?"
Addie almost snorts. Of course Caspian defaults to manners, offering pleasantries with all the polite distance she'd expect of a royal.
She could say the dance lessons were tolerable, but she'd be telling half a lie. They were - surprisingly - enjoyable.
"Good," Addie murmurs instead. "At least, when Queen Lucy takes charge." At Caspian's furtive glance, she shrugs. "Narnian dances are less stuffy. No offence."
Paper rustles, and Caspian's quill scratches across another parchment. His signature must be a mess, rushing like that.
"I'm glad you're enjoying them," he says, perfectly stilted. "And the -"
With a snap, Addie abandons the book and marches up to his chair, bold as she once was.
"I don't want to make love."
Caspian startles, quill slipping in his fingers.
"I didn't expect you would," he says.
Addie abandons her book on Caspian's desk and curls careful fingers around his chair arm.
She can still make his breath catch. That's something.
Caspian swallows audibly, blinking up at her with his lips parted and the candle flame reflected in his eyes, heavy-lidded and hungry.
"I thought you -"
Addie breathes across his lips. "I don't."
It's not a gentle kiss, the press of their mouths. It's a mess of teeth and tongues, frantic lips seeking the last true language they have left.
Bodies - these lips, this warm tongue, this hot puff of breath she swallows greedily - none of these things lie or betray, not like this. They just are. Pure instinct, as natural as the beat of her heart, nearly enough to erase the past hooked in her throat.
But Caspian's holding back. He nibbles her bottom lip how she likes and gives her his tongue to suck, but his hands haven't risen to roam her curves. Caspian should be pulling her into his lap, groaning pleas into her mouth, thrusting between her thighs. This new restraint tastes like his dismissals at the How, and Addie hates it.
"Do you not want to?" Addie pulls back; she needs to look into Caspian's eyes, see if they've gone dark with want or if she's alone in this, too.
Caspian surges across the inches she retreated and there, that's better. Addie prefers these almost-reckless kisses - the ones where he might devour her whole and she'd beg him to do it.
"I'd have you in this chair ifā¦" Caspian trails off to kiss her again. "There is still much to say."
"Not now." If she had any shame, Addie might regret begging, might choke back her needy whine. But she doesn't.
Caspian reaches up, and there, finally. She can breathe easier with his hand cradling her neck.
"Aren't you angry with me?" he asks.
Addie sinks onto his lap - can't help it, her balance was failing anyway - and sighs at the feel of him hard against her.
"Does it matter?" she asks, breathless enough she should be ashamed.
Caspian grasps her hip, holding her still. "It matters to me," he murmurs. "It matters very much."
He didn't worry this much when she put his hand around her throat. So it stands to reason Caspian might be similarly inarticulate and unconcerned with such trivial things as understanding her feelings if she brings that up again, if he's buried inside her - fingers, tongue, cock, Addie doesn't care.
Anything to remind her of the good things. Anything to remind her how to let go.
Addie guides his fingers around her neck and leans in, because Caspian won't understand what she wants if she doesn't show him.
"I just want this," she whispers. "Help me forget. Like we used to."
Caspian's fingertips press to her pulse, firm only because she holds him there. Even still, he looks at her like she's a puzzle, dissecting her instead of kissing her.
"Are you certain?"
The word is out before Addie can swallow it. A pathetic, helpless "please," desperate and humiliating. Worse, a second tumbles free, then a third, a cacophony of need.
"Please," Addie gasps. "Please, I don't want to think about it, please -"
Caspian hushes her with a kiss, finally a proper kiss, his tongue flooding her mouth, strong and sure and gentle as only Caspian is, a gentleness that makes her chest ache and her eyes water.
"I'm here, Addie, I'm here," he says, kissing a trail of fire from her lips to her neck.
She pulls him impossibly closer, pushing into his hand until her ears fuzz.
"Then make it up to me," Addie says, grinding into Caspian's lap, chasing his shudder with her tongue. "Make me forget."
Caspian squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead to hers as if she's the last anchor between him and a sea storm, kissing both her cheeks before pushing into her slow, deliberate grinding. His thumb strokes her jaw, a question and a promise, but not enough, she can still breathe, still feel, it's not enough -
"Caspian," she whines. "Please -"
His hand tightens, thumb and forefinger tight to her arteries, and it's nearly there, nearly -
Addie curls forward and yes, air rasps in her throat and for a moment it's another hand, and ferns and leaves are crinkling under her, the scent of sun-warmed bark and storm-soaked leaves thick in her nose, dirt in her teeth.
It's not real; it's only a memory. There's pain and panic, a frantic thrum trilling her heart and darkening her vision, but it's temporary. There's something else beyond this, something cool like river water, silvery like moonlight.
Something like peace, forgiveness.
"Don't stop," Addie rasps, a broken plea, danger beating like a drum between her ribs as Caspian hesitates, says her name like a question.
"Please," Addie cries, grasping for his hand, because Caspian's grip is loosening, sliding away, a denial -
"Addie," he says. "Shh, Addie."
She writhes in his lap, helpless, instinctively seeking his warmth. She finds him half-hard and hesitant.
"Please," she begs, shameless when she should salvage her scraps of pride. "Make it hurt, please."
Caspian's hand retreats entirely, leaving her neck cold and neglected.
"Not like this." He kisses one wet cheek, then the other. "Not like this," he repeats, kissing her forehead, his palms cradling her face.
Addie's hips slow, broken circles halting in the face of rejection.
"How, then?"
Caspian dusts a single kiss to each eyelid, warm lips tickling thin skin.
"Talk to me," he murmurs. "I beg you, talk to me."
The truth is out before she can stop it.
"I don't want to," Addie chokes. "We've talked already; what else is there?"
"Anything," says Caspian, like it's that simple. "Whatever you're thinking, just tell me."
Addie shakes her head, jostling his hold, but what else can she do? There aren't words for this writhing, crimping thorn under her tongue, the hollow echo at the end of every breath. These are feelings, sensations of it hurts and not enough and make it stop, please, not something she can explain. She's a raw thing, not a woman, not a lover, nothing, why won't he kiss her until she feels like something?
"I can't," she whimpers, grinding without true purpose, just giving her body something to do. Then, worse, a feeble "I don't know how, it'sā¦ I don't know, Cas."
Caspian's next kiss unfurls like a blossom in spring - sun-bright and beautiful, offering a new beginning if she meets his tenderness with honesty, love with love, different expressions but the same feeling. Caspian's care is a shared sentiment, if she wants it to be.
Tash, how she wants.
Tash, how she fears.
"I'm tired of feeling," Addie whispers. "Make it stop. I can't make it stop without you."
Caspian tucks loose curls behind her ear, his eyes searching. The weight of his appraisal roots her in place, more statue than woman.
Whatever he finds, Caspian kisses her just when she considers retreating to the window and forgetting the whole thing. Instead, he stands up for them both, arms tight with muscle, holding her aloft as Addie wraps her legs around him. His soft kisses aren't quite what she needs, too much like questions, but Addie melts into them anyway.
Sometimes, you have to accept what you're given.
Addie clings to him like ivy on stone walls, fingers curling into Caspian's shirt. One swipe of papers later, the bookshelves behind Caspian tilt into the dark ceiling and Addie's back meets the hard, smooth planes of his desk. She almost sobs as his hands leave her, almost begs him don't go, but then Caspian's touching her again, steady hands parting her robe and pushing up her shift, his breath fanning hot between her thighs.
Oh, that'sā¦ different than she wanted. She loves Caspian's mouth, but he's predisposed to lovemaking, and she wanted to drown in her pain and his pleasure, not her own.
Take what you're given.
Addie's head thunks onto the desk at the first swipe of his tongue - wet, hot as a hearth-fire, a touch so soft she cries a little, tears seeping into her hairline.
She will not beg; she's begged enough.
At her sniffle, Caspian's mouth retreats and to Tash with pride, can't he make up his mind?
"It's fine, Cas, just - fuck!"
Caspian parts her folds and sucks so hard she yelps, the spike of pleasure harsh like a punishment.
"Quiet, Addie," he says, low and gravelled into her cunt. "Let me make it up to you."
Caspian's always enthusiastic, always laps her up like she's someone to worship and a delicacy to consume. But this has the urgency of a man set on convincing her, on earning forgiveness with every eager suck and swipe and swirl. And then Caspian licks in flat circles that send her racing toward the edge, and he adds one, two, three fingers at once, and she feels whole and complete and held, cradled as he pushes her toward her finish with fingers curled exactly how she needs.
Addie comes with a broken wail, the sound torn from her throat. Caspian's mouth never falters as he licks her through it, even when she whines, "too much, it's too much."
Caspian sucks lighter, fills her with two fingers instead of three, but her skin is raw and it hurts.
Addie grinds into his mouth, because this pleasure sharp as a thorn loosens the vice around her lungs, fills them with air, whispers it's alright now. It's good pain, like pulling out a splinter, a poultice on a wound, the sting of herbs fighting infection.
What an exquisite torture it is: accepting what she does not deserve.
The beginnings of the next twist in her abdomen, muscles cramping in anticipation. That's not fair, doesn't make sense, Caspian's long fingers are still, his tongue laying flat, barely moving. This shouldn't be enough to make her hips stutter toward him, a wordless plea.
Caspian slides his fingers free - an obscenely easy glide in the wrong direction, opposite of what she wants - and she's going to die, she's going to die -
"Shh, Addie," Caspian whispers, kissing his way to her opening. "Let me take care of you."
"Why?" she blurts, helpless and stupid. "So you can decide when I leave?"
Caspian answers with a suck that jolts her hips off the desk and wrests a keening ah-ah up her throat. His thumbs hook inside, spreading her open as his mouth descends.
"No one's leaving. Just trust me." And then Caspian is fucking her with his tongue, lewd and filthy and the closest thing to holy she's ever known.
I do, Addie almost chokes. I do, don't you understand? That's the problem: I never stopped and I can't help it, and I don't deserve you, I don't deserve you.
She has strength left to leave some things unsaid.
Until her body betrays her, sends her careening over the cliff Caspian's brought her to embarrassingly fast. She's babbling, pleasure and pain and want running together, incomprehensible, and she prays, she prays she's not admitting she trusts him more than anyone, why else does he think she came to him again? Why else is she stuffing herself into gold-trimmed dresses and reshaping her bluntness into proper manners, letting Caspian's world of silks and politics and rules bend her into someone she hardly recognises?
Why else did she choose him over her only approximation of family? Why else does she choose him still?
She thinks she'd choose Caspian even if he carved her heart from her breast and held it bloody over her lips. Maybe she trusts him because she knows he wouldn't.
"I love you," Addie cries as her finish leaves her boneless. "Please, you have to know how much I -"
"I know," Caspian says, kissing up her body, lips damp through her shift on her stomach, her breasts. Addie almost doesn't mind the overwhelming emptiness he's left in her cunt, because he'll fill her if she asks. "It's alright, Addie, I know."
Addie pulls him to her mouth and kisses him to taste if he means it. She tastes herself instead, a cloak hiding him, unacceptable, so she licks into his mouth and takes until she finds him again, the heady tang of dinner wine and home.
"Bedroom," she gasps. Then, because she has manners now: "Please."
Her robe slips away as Caspian lifts her, one hand supporting her arse and the other cradling her head, pressing her face into his neck. Addie nuzzles into his warm skin, licks the salt of his sweat away, desperate to carry any part of him inside her as he carries her to his bed.
Addie's mouth falls open as Caspian claims it again, her legs weak as they slide low around his hips, her arms trembling as she tries to hold him close.
Her world tilts back. Caspian's coverlet envelops her.
Caspian's asking something. Addie concentrates, fighting through the fog in her head.
"Are you well?"
Addie almost laughs. She should've predicted that.
"Fine," she answers. "Never better."
That's not quite true, but it's close enough. She does feel better; she'd be perfect if Caspian would let her squirm down to return the favour, so she can carry proof he's still hers on her tongue.
Caspian holds her fast when she tries to push him onto his back.
"You don't have to," he says.
"I want to," Addie says, a needy whine, a plea, but at least she's honest. "Please, need to taste you -"
Caspian swears, his long hair tickling her cheeks as he rests his forehead on hers.
"I'm making it up to you," he says.
Addie kisses his sweat-sticky brow, a constellation of forgiveness. "Don't I need to make it up to you, too?"
Caspian's shaking his head before she finishes, his lips seeking hers and painting over her contrition.
"You don't need to make up for anything."
Addie's breath catches on a sob because she does, she does. She's too harsh, unrefined, unforgiving, punished him all these days for a hurt she might've prevented if she'd warned him about Marcos sooner. Her fault, it's her fault. Caspian sent her with Marcos, and it's her fault.
She still hasn't told him Marcos has done it before.
"Yes I do," Addie whimpers, because it's easier not to divulge the past, it's past and Caspian understands now. All that matters is proving she loves him and she's sorry, so sorry for punishing him, for not telling him, sorry sorry sorry, has to show him, has to be enough for him. "Let me, please, let me try."
Caspian strokes her wet cheeks, kisses away the salty trails of old tears. "For what?"
"Any of it, all of it. Just let meā¦ let meā¦ I'm empty, Cas."
With a groan, Caspian falls into her, his kisses messy and uncoordinated, a perfect match for the unspoolled knot in her chest. His tongue takes - pulling needy moans she could stop if she wanted to, but she doesn't, can't imagine denying him any part of her now.
Caspian's hands abandon her, his balance faltering as he shoves his trousers down and ah, there, finally, skin meeting skin, pliant flesh giving way as he glides home inside her.
It's enough. It's enough.
As long as she carries some part of him inside her, it's enough.
Addie comes to slowly, sticky and lazy in the aftermath of fucking.
I love you, her body says, beckoning her heart to echo the same. I love you.
Caspian is splayed atop her, scattering kisses over her cheeks as he rolls onto his back and tucks her close, and it's proof, isn't it, that he loves her too, even through her secrets?
He's good at unfurling her half-truths into truths. Luring her to honesty with nothing more than his touch.
Maybe that's why she can't leave well enough alone.
Addie breathes with him and asks about the tea.
"Was it your idea?"
Caspian stiffens, muscles soft in the afterglow tensing in defence. His hand tightens on her shoulder, bracing.
Addie breathes steadily, unmoving. Caspian could say anything and she'd barely mind, at least right now.
"In a way," he says at last. "I agreed to it."
Addie traces the swirl of fine hair around his nipple. "The sedative or the contraceptive?"
Caspian flinches.
"I understand why," Addie says, mostly truthful. "I'm just curious."
She only wants to know everything Caspian was thinking before common sense returns and she can't bear to mention anything about the war anymore. So if there's a next time, she'll be ready. She can stop him, talk him out of it, be smarter next time if she understands.
"Both," Caspian answers, something close to shame trembling his fingers as they trace her spine. "Youā¦ carrying a child - my childā¦ I told you, they would never have stopped hunting you."
Addie shrugs, mint tea a distant memory when her skin sings raw with darkening bruises.
Her tongue runs away with her, made loose in the hazy luxury of skin on skin, of being held.
"I know. But I would've wanted that small piece of you."
Silence.
Caspian's chest is suddenly still, frozen, breathless beneath her cheek.
Addie flattens her ear over his heart, watches his skin jump as his pulse quickens, faster and faster, proof it might have meant something to him, too.
"Doesn't matter now," she says. "But I thought you should know."
By the time her eyes drift closed, Caspian still hasn't answered.
A/N: Bit of a disconnect on that spicy scene, hmm? Almost like Caspian just wants to give Addie love and care, but Addie only knows how to accept the pain...
How's Caspian going to react to Addie's lil revelation?
Chapter 50 Preview:
Marcos stops at the dais and bows. "I've come to collect."
"Collect?"
Marcos straightens. "My salary, as agreed. Lady Adelina is returned to you safely."