A/N: One minor mental breakdown later, I'm back! Special shoutout to y'all for your patience and the gentle pokes to let me know you're looking forward to the chapter! It really does mean the world to me and got me through the last scene of this chapter.
Chapter 81 Content Warnings: smut (a lil voyeurism, a lil exhibitionism, and if you're icked by non-OTP stuff, maybe skip that last scene š )
Chapter 81: bitter on my teeth
Caspian
He's locked hilt-to-hilt with one of his soldiers when a servant arrives bearing news of Addie's return. A nod dismisses his opponent while he tells the faun to have Addie and Doctor Cornelius join him in his office immediately.
Caspian doesn't bother to hang up his armour, and instead of passing his sword to a squire to polish and sharpen, he sheathes it and makes his way to his office with long strides. The rest of his sparring can wait; he can work out his sudden, anxious energy later.
At last, answers await, and he has been patient for months.
He's just sat down and begun clearing some stacks of reports cluttering his desk when heavy footsteps approach the door. A knock comes, three strong raps - Doctor Cornelius' pattern. Caspian sets aside his papers and bids his old professor to enter.
The Doctor comes first, but he's followed closely by a second figure.
Addie.
She's paler than he remembers, her usually full cheeks thinner and her high cheekbones sharper. And while Doctor Cornelius bows at once, a shallow bend of familiarity, Addie curtsies deeply, eyelashes dusting her cheeks.
He clenches his jaw, but he shouldn't be surprised. Addie's answered his every overture with the same insistent formality.
He'd rather steal a midnight snack and sit on a dirty kitchen floor with her than see another curtsy or read another, "Respectfully, Adelaine."
Caspian schools his frown into cool indifference, and something in him is glad for the reassuring weight of his armour on his shoulders. Those days are long past, and before he can speak with her about personal matters, there is business to attend. Addie's reports have shown a marked lack of progress, Doctor Cornelius' research has hit dead end after dead end, and Trufflehunter has found nothing of further use in Cair Paravel.
As he lays out the last few months of nothing, Addie's slightly pinched mouth is the only sign of her displeasure. She must be frustrated, but it doesn't show.
She's gotten too good at hiding herself away.
"What is your conclusion, Doctor Cornelius?" Caspian finishes. "Are there any possibilities yet unturned?"
With a long, heavy sigh, the Doctor shakes his head. "Much as I wish to say otherwise, no, there are not. Adelaine and I have exhausted every research path. What we presently know about the rings may be all we may ever know. Unlessā¦"
Caspian taps his chair. "Unless I allow you to use them yourself? Is that it?"
"Yes, my king," says the Doctor.
Addie leans forward, her gaze intent. "If you're still worried about risking Doctor Cornelius, my offer from before stands. I'm not afraid to test them myself. That's how I got here."
Caspian relaxes back into his chair, holding his chin with an idle hand as he looks Addie over. Ettinsmoor has changed her in appearance, but her recklessness remains. Even her gracious air of self-sacrifice can't hide it.
She should know he's even less inclined to let her use the rings than his childhood professor.
"No," Caspian says firmly. "Without further information, my decision stands. No one is to use them."
Addie sits back and crosses her legs, her tone sharpening. "By those standards, no one will ever use them again."
"That is a sacrifice I am willing to make."
Too callous, perhaps.
Sighing, Caspian softens his shoulders and faces Addie properly. "I cannot risk my kingdom," he explains. "Nor will I risk either of you."
An old refrain, but it's as true now as it was two seasons ago.
Doctor Cornelius shifts, stroking his beard and frowning.
"With respect, my king, these rings must be understood. Adelaine's predicament aside, is it not also dangerous if we do not understand the full extent of their power?"
Caspian thinks for a moment.
Between Addie's experience and research, they understand, on a basic level, how the rings work. The most pressing question is the Wood Between Worlds, and the pools within. Addie knows little of magic; her hypothesis that the Wood is neither good nor evil does not ease his mind. Using the rings could throw her, the Doctor, and anyone with them into a hostile world where the rings could be lost forever.
Lost or stolen.
"The Wood's intent is my greater concern, if it even has one," Caspian says. "We still don't know if the power governing the Wood is malicious, nor the rules of its magic. The risk is too great."
Addie crosses her arms and meets his gaze more directly than she has inā¦ a while.
"How do you expect us to figure out the Wood's rules from old books and tattered scrolls? You've read my reports; that's gotten us nowhere." Her eyes flash, bright with the fire he both did and did not miss in equal measure.
Addie continues. "Only four people in all of Narnia's history have been to the Wood, and they're all dead. If they learned its rules - which I doubt - they left no record of it."
Caspian straightens at the sharpness, the challenge in Addie's tone and posture.
"I'm afraid Adelaine has a point," comes Doctor Cornelius' grave pronouncement.
Caspian drums his fingers on his chair. He can let the rings collect dust in the safety of the royal vault, or he can approve experimentation despite the risks.
There's only one answer. For his kingdom's sake.
"As I said, my decision is the same," Caspian says.
Silence.
Addie looks to Doctor Cornelius, whose frown deepens, yet he says nothing.
Addie turns to him.
Caspian waits for her spark of defiance to wilt, for some flicker of acknowledgment that she may never get home. Returning to England has been Addie's only desire since coming back, and he's all but told her she can't. It's unfortunate, but that is the reality.
Were they on better terms, he might -
No, were he a better man, he would tell her he's sorry, that he'd allow it if he could. But some part of him - a darker, selfish part - is not quite contrite. Not after months of festering frustration souring his heart.
But for all his faults, he is no liar.
And for all Addie's faults, she is not one to give up.
"What, specifically, do you need to know about the Wood?" she asks.
"I would know the nature of its magic, who or what controls it, and where the pools lead," Caspian answers across the sea of scrolls and papers between them. Simple requirements, but the odds of Addie - or anyone - finding the answers here in Narnia are admittedly slim to none, unless Aslan decides to visit and impart some wisdom.
Doctor Cornelius sighs, but makes no argument. Meanwhile, Addie sets her jaw, a certain calculation in her eyes.
"And if the Wood is governed by good magic - according to your definition - and the pools are stable, you'd let me go?"
The very notion pinches in his gut like the morning punishment for evening indulgences.
He will make no such promise.
"I would consider allowing limited experimentations," Caspian says. "But nothing else until we knew more."
Addie scoffs and falls silent. Her stare holds judgement, but who is she to judge him? Months she has left him unanswered, spat on his concern, and spurned his attempts at reconciliation.
"Very well," says Doctor Cornelius, resignation heavy in his voice. "We will remain committed to our work. Won't we, Adelaine?"
"Right," she says - flat and cold, her back straight as a javelin. "Of course."
He doesn't believe her. Caspian looks at her, at her thinner cheeks and sharper chin and the steely glint in her eyes, and he doesn't believe her for one second.
What he doesn't know is what Addie intends to do next. Prior patterns suggest she'll flee out of his reach again, likely to the north, but Addie doesn't have the look of someone preparing to run away.
She looks like a well-trained soldier riding into battle. Resolved, not resigned.
Yet, what can she do? With the rings safely sealed in the vault, which is guarded at all hours and has only one key (which he keeps), Addie's resolve will lead nowhere.
Let her have this brief flare of determination. It will end the same as her research.
In defeat.
At least her defeat means she will stay in the same world as he; Narnia will be safe, and her with it. That is something, even if it's all they will ever have.
Caspian stands and dismisses the Doctor, tempering his cool tone with thanks for the Doctor's work. Cornelius bows and turns to go, his features troubled but silent. Addie's quick to follow him, as eager to leave as ever. Caspian stops her before she can.
"Addie, a moment?"
Addie and the Doctor hesitate, and the weight of two stares falls on him.
Caspian waits expectantly, because he is a king and in this moment, he requires nothing but their obedience.
Official discussion has concluded; now, he will have a proper conversation with the woman who finally stands before him after months of avoidance.
Doctor Cornelius lingers only a moment.
"When you've finished, Adelaine, I would speak with you in my study."
At her nod, the Doctor exits, the heavy door clanging shut in his wake.
Alone at last.
Caspian walks around his desk so there is one less thing between them.
"You have not written in weeks," he says.
Still hovering near the door, Addie lifts an eyebrow. "Haven't you received my reports?"
Caspian gestures to the stack of reports he's received over the last months, all curt, flippant, and effectively worthless to him.
"I have," he allows. "And naught else."
Addie half-turns, her profile unmoved, eyes fixed blankly ahead, and says nothing.
Caspian draws himself to his full height, armour rattling as he clasps his hands behind his back.
"Did you receive my letters?"
"Yes."
"Did you read them?"
Something flickers in her expression, gone too quickly to pinpoint.
"Yes."
"And?"
Addie's jaw clenches, profile hardening as her eyes flick to his.
He despises it - that look. But when Addie speaks next, he despises the chill in her voice even more.
"I had nothing to say," she says.
He poured his heart out, apologised for everything and tried to understand, and she has nothing to say?
"I sought only to make amends and move forward," Caspian says, firmer. "Is that so impossible?"
A glint, there, in her eyes - something as cold as the snowstorm gathering outside. Yet when Addie speaks, her voice is soft.
Treacherously soft.
"No," she murmurs, eyes tracking across his face. Studying him. Whatever she finds makes her lips twitch. "And yes."
Caspian's brow furrows.
Addie looks away, the loss of her gaze both privation and relief.
"If there's nothing else, I should go to Doctor Cornelius."
She doesn't even wait for his dismissal; Addie turns back to the door as if that's the end of it, as if she has nothing more to say and doesn't care that he does.
"Addie," he calls, but she does not stop.
"Adelina!"
She freezes, hand clasping the door handle, as rigid as a statue of ice.
"That's not my name."
Yet his slip of tongue made her stop. So that name still means something to her.
Caspian halves the distance between them.
"This once, let us discuss the past in entirety," he begins. "Then I will trouble you with it no more. Even if you have nothing to say, there is much I would say to you."
She cocks her head. "Why? It's in the past; better to leave it there, where it belongs."
The past haunts them both; if Addie was untroubled by it, she would discuss it freely. The Addie he knows only avoids talking when she's afraid.
The Addie he once knew.
Caspian regards her, his brow pinching. Addie appears more indifferent than fearful, but perhaps he's lost practice seeing through her facades.
"There were mistakes," he says. "Misunderstandings, many of them, on both our parts. We both deserve closure."
Addie huffs, the sound almost mirthful. "I've had closure for a while." She glances over her shoulder. "You're the one apparently lacking it."
A bitter smile taints his mouth, tasting of iron. He hasn't had a day of closure in almost five years.
There was their end. And then there was nothing - no peace, only bitter resignation and slow healing of a wound given time and little else.
Until Addie returned like a wave crashing on his shore, yet still out of reach.
Because he pushed her away, or because returning home was truly all she wanted?
Caspian stops and takes her in, studies her as she's been studying him.
He's looking at a blank slate. There's a hollowness behind the annoyed spark in her gaze, a shadowed void undercutting her pursed lips.
Closureā¦ is such a thing even possible with Addie?
"I sought to remedy that and free us both," Caspian says. "But I see you have no need or desire to hear my regrets." He pauses, but she doesn't contradict him.
So be it.
Caspian sets his jaw and nods. "Go. I won't keep you."
"Your Majesty." Addie curtsies (too deep, a mockery of deference) and leaves him alone in his royal study, his frown deepening by the moment.
Sometimes, he forgets Addie has the benefit of living more than half her life over again.
Caspian returns to his desk and braces against his chair, polished wood smooth beneath his hands.
Thirteen years.
Of course the past means little to her now - nothing, even.
But if that were true, why did her eyes glisten in the throne room? Why did her congratulations for his presumed soon-to-be-official engagement sound like the twisting in his own chest?
The sound of regret. Of almost, in another life. Of too late.
Why could she not just listen?
Caspian sinks into his chair, chin cradled in his palm. As king, he could order her to. Addie is contrarian, but she'd likely comply if he made a king's order of it.
The very thought feels a joke.
He did not fight such a bloody war to claim a crown only to use it for such petty authority. He is not some haughty lord's son, ordering the maids about to flaunt his royalty, demanding that they bow and obey for his pleasure. He'd not make Addie a showpiece for his own sake.
Caspian scrubs a hand down his face. He doesn't want to force her - and he doesn't want to speak to Addie as a king.
It was Caspian the man who drove her from Narnia, not Caspian the king. So, too, must his apology come from his own mouth, not across the chasm of a throne room.
But Addie will not hear it.
And he will not force her.
Perhaps the best he can now do is allow her the gift she has offered him time and again:
Distance.
Caspian turns his mind to the upcoming Christmas celebrations, a happier topic that does little for his mood.
Addie
Amends, closure.
What simpering bullshit.
Addie takes the servant passages to Doctor Cornelius' study, retreading familiar territory in the safety of the shadows.
Opheodra warned her that despite his supposed courtship, King Caspian will do everything in his power to keep her trapped in Narnia - in his Narnia.
"Be ever on your guard. I fear the king's obsession is not yet cured," Opheodra said as she pressed a glass vial into her hand - medicine for clarity. "He will keep you hostage in his kingdom for all your days if you do not act swiftly."
If King Caspian sought to soften her by prodding at the long-dead past, he's a fool who needs better tricks. Besides, he should know she won't be corralled anywhere she doesn't want to be.
How often she used to escape the How's tunnels, seeking sunlight for her own sake, ignoring his little tyrannies and decrees! She got quite good at it.
Addie squeezes past a pair of maids, cursing when she almost steps on a badger carrying a pile of linens. These passages, used properly, keep her out of sight of the king's patrols, but they're ridiculously cramped.
All things have their prices, and a little manoeuvering is a small one for the relative anonymity offered here.
Even with the narrow paths, the servants' passages are faster - Addie knocks on the Doctor's door in record time. The old professor is her best chance at getting into the castle vault peacefully.
While Opheodra told her to use any methods necessary, accessing the rings with the Doctor's sanction will make for a far less messy escape.
Unlike the king, he may prove an amenable ally.
Addie raps on the door and enters at the Doctor's call, her hands tucked behind her skirts.
The old professor sits at his desk, haloed in the morning light shining through the window behind him.
"Adelaine," he greets. "What did His Majesty want with you?"
As Addie takes her time sitting down. Cornelius leans onto his desk, his sleeves rustling stacks of papers and scrolls as he waits for her reply.
There's no reason to lie; Doctor Cornelius is likelier to help her than not.
"To discuss the past," Addie says. "I thought he'd given up, butā¦" she shrugs, tinting her frown with concern.
"I must admit some disappointment." The Doctor strokes his moustache and lifts a few letters - her letters. "You wrote assuring me the matter was laid to rest."
"I thought it was." Addie sits back and rubs her temple, mirroring Cornelius' heavy sigh. "I just wish he'd let it go. After all, it was years ago."
Cornelius glances between her and the letters. "You're certain you gave him no false hope?"
Addie peers at him through her eyelashes. The king must've gotten his suspicious mind from his professor. All she's done since returning to Narnia is try to get home. She needs to reassure the old man their goals are still aligned if she hopes to recruit his help.
"I've been as clear as I can be, Doctor," Addie says. "If you have other ideas to make the king see reason, I'd be glad of your advice."
Cornelius sits back and adjusts his spectacles, his beady eyes appraising. "Have you explicitly told him there is no future where you remain in Narnia? You are not Narnian, after all."
Not in so many words, but she's made it clear. If she hammers it home, maybe Caspian will despair enough to let her go?
No, he's far too stubborn.
But if Caspian is busy wallowing, maybe he'll loosen up enough the Doctor can argue him into smaller experiments.
"Next time he summons me, I'll remind him," Addie says.
Or, if Cornelius doesn't prove helpful, maybe she can use the king's attachment to her advantage.
Doctor Cornelius nods. "The sooner the better. Lady Lilliandil may yet return for the holiday."
Lilliandil's not here?
Well, that explains Caspian's sudden interest. He's free to be bolder if his intended is elsewhere.
Prick.
"Where is she?" Addie asks.
"Travelling," says the Doctor. "There is much of Narnia she wished to explore."
"But Caspian didn't go with her?"
Cornelius narrows his eyes. "That is not your concern."
Interesting.
If he won't tell her, the servants' gossip chain certainly will. But it's worth seeing if the Doctor will tell her himself.
Addie lowers her gaze in deference. "I thought she might be amenable to our cause. The king told her everything about our research."
"I see." With a sigh, the Doctor relents. "Perhaps you are right. There was a slightā¦ misunderstanding, one I hope will soon be corrected."
Misunderstandingā¦ Lilliandil's been travelling alone without her soon-to-be intended, and Caspian wants to reconnect at the same time?
How curious.
"When is she arriving?"
"The king hasn't said." After a moment, Cornelius shuffles his papers to find a fresh piece. "I will write to Lady Lilliandil to encourage her prompt return. Mind you, even she may not be able to change his mind."
Addie purses her lips against a scoff. She's leaving this capital with the rings one way or another; Lilliandil arguing her case just presents an easier path.
But as far as Cornelius should be concerned, she's perfectly obedient - at least, obedient enough no one will suspect she'll actually do anything about her frustrations.
Better to let others try to convince Caspian for her. Keep his eye elsewhere.
"Not change his mind," Addie says. "Justā¦ nudge it. Aren't there smaller, safer experiments we could do? Scrape off a bit, test what the rings are made of?"
The Doctor shakes his head. "I've already put the idea before him, and the king's verdict was the same. That said, I suspect Lady Lilliandil will want to help us. She is a kind and wise gentlewoman."
Of course she will. If the star's tooth-rottingly compassionate nature doesn't compel her, her feelings for Caspian will.
"I hope so," Addie says. "Until she returns, what can we do?"
Doctor Cornelius dips his quill and begins to write. "Unfortunately, I have no further work for you regarding our research."
She didn't tell Perla she'd be busy with royal matters just to wander the castle aimlessly.
"I'd rather stay busy. If I don't, all I can think about is home andā¦" Addie pastes on a sheepish smile. "Anyway, I'm happy to help with anything else you need."
"In that caseā¦" Cornelius doesn't even glance up as he hands her a list of records. "Fetch these from the castle archives."
Addie skims the scribbled list. Mount Pire, Lady Liln, Ruined Cityā¦
The City Ruinous? What does Cornelius want with those old ruins? The Wild Lands aren't part of Narnia.
Addie carefully schools her expression.
"You're researching Giants?"
The Doctor waves her off. "Anything possibly related to the earthquake. I doubt the Giants were responsible, but there are a few inconsistencies I would lay to rest. Your knowledge of Ettinsmoor and the old Giant kingdom will be of use."
Addie flexes her left hand, tucked out of sight. The scars are frustratingly eye-catching.
"Right away," she says, and slips out of the room and into the safety of the servants' passages, willing her hand to stop itching and her mind to quiet.
Better not to think about the earthquake. Opheodra said to put it from her mind and never speak of it.
No one here could possibly understand the good Opheodra has done.
In her generosity, Opheodra gave her and Hallgrim use of her city house. It's a welcome sanctuary from the castle.
"Still nothing to show?" Hallgrim scowls and continues sharpening his broadsword, steel singing over whetstone. He's taken over the sitting room rather than sleeping upstairs - something about better watching for intruders. When he isn't hovering at her side or tracking the city guards' movements, he's here. "Her Grace would not be pleased."
Addie slaps her meticulous blueprint of the castle's underbelly onto the table. At first, she was grateful that Opheodra sent Hallgrim as her bodyguard, but he doesn't have the Lady's patience.
"I've mapped every room, staircase, and guard post from the main hall to the royal vault. Best time to sneak in will be the Christmas Eve ball, when the entire city's drunkenly celebrating. We'll scout our entrance and exit routes tonight while everyone's decorating the tree. You've been noting the patrols?"
Hallgrim grunts and holds his sword to the light, turning it to inspect every edge.
"If the king's captain has sense, he'll post extra watchmen in case of rowdy drunks."
"Above ground, right?" Addie counters. "Not in the castle basement."
"Possibly." Hallgrim tests his blade, unconcerned as a thin red line appears on his thumb. "If you know the way, we'd do better to finish the job tonight."
Addie curls up on the settee where Opheodra first befriended her, the fire blazing merrily in the hearth. Opheodra sent her to avoid suspicion. Hallgrim's a northern stranger who'd have to spend months building enough trust to sneak into the castle kitchen, let alone the vault; even the northman can't cut through the king's many guards and knights posted throughout the castle and city.
"I don't have the key yet," Addie says. "Even if I agreed with you, we can't get in now. Besides, the tree ceremony tonight only takes an hour or two - enough time for scouting and little else."
"Who's got the key?"
That's the difficulty.
"King Caspian."
In a bout of frustration this morning, Doctor Cornelius said even if he insisted on experimenting, the king keeps the vault key and Caspian still hasn't agreed. In Caspian's absence, Trumpkin kept it.
Hallgrim continues sharpening his sword. "Then get that key soon. Her Grace is expecting us."
"Soon," Addie agrees. "Just before the ball, so he won't notice it missing. For tonight, scouting only."
With a curt nod, Hallgrim sheaths his sword.
She liked him better when he was silent.
Addie turns to leave him to his solitude. The northman chafes in the city, whether for the crowds or the distance from Varn and Opheodra. He's not an easy man to work with.
However, he's not here to be pleasant company. He's here to do the messy work, to cut through anyone in their way.
And Addie is here to get the rings and the cordial without raising the alarm, so Hallgrim won't have to make a mess. In a perfect world, Hallgrim won't even need to draw his sword.
"And if we're caught?" he calls.
Addie hesitates, one foot on the stairs. Hallgrim has a point; if she knows anything about Narnia, it's that nothing ever goes according to plan.
Boots thump, and when she turns, Hallgrim looms over her.
"So we need a cover story," Addie says. "To avoid suspicion."
Hallgrim taps his sword-hilt and says nothing.
Addie narrowly keeps from rolling her eyes. "No killing, not until we have the rings in hand. Bodies will be difficult to dispose of and only raise the alarm."
With a humph, the northman closes in, a meaty hand on the polished banister.
"Then what do you have in mind?"
Caspian
Caspian presides over decking the Christmas trees, both in the castle courtyard and the city square, and misses Lilliandil's glowing companionship, her amiable presence at his side.
First, the square, where a fir twice his height soars in the centre, its branches rustling in the western wind. As he hangs the first ornament - a polished carving of Aslan bounding into the sea - he ignores the lonely stump across the way.
It is a relief when the celebration moves to the castle courtyard, away from his regrets.
He knows better than to look for Addie. There is no comfort to be had from that quarter.
With his court and the castle's many servants crammed into the courtyard, Caspian places the first ornament - a gilded portrait of Aslan's face and flowing mane in layers of gold plate - facing east among the boughs and leaves the rest to his people. Humans and Narnians alike swarm the towering evergreen at his word, all bearing ornaments of cloth, woven wheat, and stuffed doll-like figures of bygone ages. Wealthier nobles bear gold-plated trinkets of similar heroes and legends, and gold- and silversmiths decorate with glittering gold and silver threads that sway with the branches. On Christmas Eve, the tree will be lit with candles to greet Father Christmas.
Two years ago, Caspian woke to a round shield bearing the Lion's visage in crimson red leaning against his bedroom fireplace. More a tool than a toy, the shield is made in the style of Old Narnia, all smooth metal and clean lines without the Telmarine penchant for ornate details.
While Aslan keeps His distance, Father Christmas is a yearly constant.
When his duty is done and his people are busy celebrating, Caspian leaves the party. He has little appetite for wine or singing tonight; he longs only for the blessed oblivion of sleep. With Rainroot's prescribed tea, he won't dream.
Those precious hours of the night, he is free of his recriminations and frustrations.
Lion, why does he still think of her? Why should he care if Addie stood with the kitchen maids with an ornament in hand? Why should he wonder if Addie has similar traditions in England, and what they were?
She once mentioned cinnamon buns.
Caspian shakes off the thought. Addie's traditions do not matter, and his academic curiosities will find no answers with her.
The corridors are deserted but for occasional patrols, who bow quickly as he passes. Torchlight glows across stone walls and tapestries, illuminating paler strips where masons covered cracks caused by the earthquake.
It's a quiet walk, the relative solitude the closest to peace he's yet found, even with the distant cheers and songs of the tree decorating. Tomorrow will bring more holiday preparations, and Trumpkin -
In the shadows, something moves.
Caspian slows, his hand drifting to the small dagger at his belt. No patrol emerges.
Ahead lies a staircase to the castle's lower level, to the archives, vault, and, further on, the dungeon. Behind him, two guards - a minotaur and a faun - just turned the bend, out of sight.
Caspian draws his dagger and walks on, the hall rug cushioning his boots. If it's an assassin, they won't live long. And if this is a drunken reveller lost to wine, the next patrol will get them to a bed.
When he reaches the next intersection, leather rustles.
Caspian whips toward the sound of whispers, muscles coiled in preparation, and -
Two figures are tangled together against the wall, shadows wrapped around them. The taller one is clad in a coarse-fur cowl and hulks over the shorter, feminine figure, his head bowed and hands dwarfing the dip of a waist.
Heat pinches Caspian's ears as the woman gasps and arches into a broad hand.
This isā¦ improper. Highly improper, to paw each other in a dark hall when anyone could happen upon them. Has he not seen to it that every soul in this city has a place to sleep?
The man shifts, and the torchlight catches hazel eyes and the curve of a cheek he knows well.
Lion's Mane, it'sā¦ Addie?
His lips trace the shape of her name, but the sound of a sigh - a soft sigh, breathy - dries his tongue.
His grip on the dagger tightens, and a curse slithers past his lips.
Hazel eyes snap to his.
Question after question floods his mouth: Do you want this? Who is he? Why are you doing this here?
Caspian summons his wits and steps toward the pair, but then Addie's lips part in a whine and every rebuke he summoned splinters into nothing.
Addie's hand slides up the man's back - lover, is he her lover? - and curls around his shoulder. Slowly, the man abandons his attention to Addie's neck - does he know to be gentle, that she bruises easily under her jaw? - and sinks down.
She still hasn't looked away.
This isā¦ inappropriate.
He should stop this.
Caspian takes another step, only to halt and avert his eyes with Addie's face burned into his eyelids as the man pulls up her skirt, baring a creamy thigh.
A pause, then armoured knees clank on stone, a skirt rustles, and a sharp, choked little gasp echoes.
In times past, it was he who pulled such sounds from her lips.
Caspian whips around, hair flying in his face, and immediately wishes he hadn't.
Addie's head is thrown back, mouth open in pleasure and hips grinding circles onto this stranger's face, as if he truly is pleasing her - as if she likes his too-tight grip and graceless smacks.
The man makes no other sounds, nothing to indicate his own pleasure. That bastard should be groaning sonnets, grunting praise to her and whatever god he worships for the privilege of tasting her for even a moment! What sort of man sits on his heels and wrenches Addie's hips forward like that, a harsh angle that presses her neck and shoulders into the cold stone wall, so careless and callous? And Addie ought to shove him away and eviscerate him with the full inadequacy of his efforts.
Caspian's nails dig into his palms, half-crescent stings that do nothing to quiet the roaring in his ears.
Addie's brow is furrowed, her lips pinched in frustration. She can't be enjoying this; surely she'd prefer -
She huffs, breath catching on a whine closer to annoyance than pleasure, as the man throws a leg over his shoulder. Her skirts hide the details, but Addie only hisses like that when a tongue flicks too harshly or teeth find her inner thigh.
He used to mark her there, occasionally - a secret for her to carry beneath her dress, proof she belonged to him.
Caspian clenches his jaw, breath coming sharp and angry. He could pleasure her far better. He knows her, knows her every like and dislike and that delicate line between rough and indulgent.
He knew her.
Addie's eyes drift open, as if she heard his thoughts. Her stare sears through him, sharp as an arrow, barbed as Telmarine spurs. Not quite a recrimination, that, but she's caught him lingering, still watching.
She says nothing.
Caspian's teeth ache with clenching, his legs threatening to cramp from the effort of staying so still.
Her eyes glint green in the distant torchlight, the flash gone in a blink, and Addie's lips part on a sigh, her frown melting away as their eyes meet.
He knows that look.
He knows that look.
Addie is daring him.
To do what, he cannot guess. To scold her? Call for guards? Intervene?
Shove his blade between this interloper's ribs and claim her for himself, make her cry out only for him, as she once did?
He could.
The hilt chafes his palm and Caspian's veins sing with the promise of battle.
No, no, he is a Narnian king, not a Telmarine conqueror.
And yetā¦
His breath pants hot through his lips, his dagger heavy in his hand. He could, he could, he should -
Addie's inhale catches, her eyelashes fluttering. Yet her gaze is unending, unyielding, a fiery abyss threatening to consume him, and his own mouth is useless for anything but mirroring her. Addie's hand - deceptively delicate, for he knows the callouses on her palms - slides from the man's dark head of hair to her chest, squeezing a breast, and she keens, something sparking to life in her eyes, another flash of unfamiliar green.
Lion, that should be his hand, his mouth, his studious attention eclipsing her frown with pleasure! He ought to push that worthless man aside and remind Addie what proper kisses taste like, sink his fingers between her thighs and savour her as she is meant to be savoured.
She was his.
She should have always been his.
Her hips rock, then circle, her back arching as Addie seeks a rhythm and angle she likes, the same way she once pushed into his fingers, his tongue. And those moans, as if she's close to her end!
Her eyes have not left him, and he cannot move. The castle could split in two beneath his feet and he'd still be frozen staring, watching Addie's lips curl around soft pants, pleased sighs, fevered groans, watching her chest rise and fall faster and faster, the staccato prelude to her peak. Her brow pinches, her voice cracking into silence.
Caspian's own breath fails him, caught somewhere between his boots and Tash's hells. His lungs burn, his face, his chest, every part of him burns like a dying star as he waits, waits.
Addie's eyes squeeze shut, and she stiffens with a shudder.
A small climax, but a climax nonetheless. Here, practically out in the open, in the castle halls - his castle halls - where anyone could see or hear, as he stands watching.
Lion's Mane, what is he doing?
Caspian forcefully sheaths his dagger, tearing his eyes away from the perverse spectacle and viciously quashing the desire to sink his steel into the man's back and sink himself into her.
Damn him.
Damn her!
Caspian spins on his heel and leaves, sweating with an unwelcome, feverish heat worsened by the throbbing between his legs. His ears ring with the sounds of Addie's pleasure, mocking him, taunting him.
Lion damn it!
He shoulders open the nearest door and blesses the Mane for the dark, empty room before him.
He has himself in a calloused hand before he realises his trousers are open.
Caspian closes his eyes, teeth gritted as he imagines shoving Addie against the wall, swearing into her mouth, sucking and biting bruises into her neck. How she would match him, match his need and fury as no one else could! Her eyes would spark and her kisses would simmer with fire and salt and smoke. His teeth would make her hiss, and when he sunk in to the hilt in a single thrust, he would knock her moans free.
He would keep her there, wringing climax after climax from her in full view of his patrols and any other passers-by until she sagged against him and insolence melted into satiation. Until her hazel eyes softened with exhaustion and she'd reach for his face, devotion shining -
His finish rips through him like a thorn from a palm, an arrow through a lung, violent in its intensity. Caspian curses to every god he knows as he spills into his hand, willing the fantasy to go on, for a smaller hand to guide his away, for a warm mouth to clean him with kitten licks and gentle sucks. Their past be damned, he would take Addie to his bed and lie with her on bedsheets fit for royalty, and in that precious night of sleepy afterglow, nothing would matter but the warmth and taste and scent of their intertwined bodies.
Caspian opens his eyes to an empty room, cold sweat and shame seeping down his back as his spend drips from his fingers.
He's alone.
His hand trembles, sticky with his own mess, and his face twists.
Caspian clenches his fist on his wasted seed and sags against the door.
For all the satisfaction of his body, he still feels empty.
A/N: Ummm so yeah. Spice. How that? š š Okay bye please don't end me lol. Only 7 more chapters til the end of Heartworm! So, light at the end of the tunnel.
On the subject of sheepishly pleading for my life, the update schedule. Honestly life is really kicking my ass right now so chapters are going up as I finish them. Roughly every two weeks, but expect some flexibility there, because, well, I Am Struggling. Updates may take a little longer, but just know this story WILL get finished. I'm getting these two idiots (and us all!) their happily ever after if it's the last thing I do ā¤ I'll post writing status updates on my insta, so follow me there if you want.