A/N: Y'all, this chapter... well, she's 9k, so there's that. And so. many. rewrites! If it's not quite up to usual standards, please be gentle in telling me so 😅 Enjoy the Caslina and the return of a familiar face!
Chapter 83 Content Warnings: N/A
Chapter 83: nothing to relive
Caspian
Caspian's barely sat down when a sharp knock raps at his study door. At his call, a messenger faun in a festive red scarf enters.
"There's a maid requesting an audience, Your Majesty. I've told her the proper channels but -"
"Who is it?" Caspian says, taking up his quill and scrawling a signature to approve more aid to the Northern Marshes.
"One of the kitchen maids, Sire."
Flipping to the next letter, Caspian signs Lord Duzig's request for further aid - mostly construction supplies - and waves off the faun.
"Tell her to speak with the headmistress."
"I did. She was very insistent."
Caspian glances over Lord Stefano's sparse report - no further pirate vessels captured - and flips through his papers. The King of Terebinthia hasn't answered him in two months.
"What does she want?"
The faun shifts, hooves tapping on stone. "Something about Miss Adelaine. I initially dismissed it as gossip, but she seems quite distraught…" The faun trails off at Caspian's frown.
"What did you say the maid's name is?"
"Lola, Your Majesty."
Addie's old friend?
Caspian takes the next paper. "Send her in."
Lola enters as his Addie might've - with her spine straight, chin high, and the purposeful march of a woman on a mission. The maid dips into a shallow curtsy that narrowly meets the demands of etiquette and opens her mouth straightaway, only to snap it closed. The barest respect seems to stop Lola from blurting her purpose before he's even set aside his quill.
In another life, Lola might have been family by association.
Caspian squares his jaw and gestures to one of two chairs across his desk.
"What brings you here, Mistress Lola?"
"It's Addie, Your Majesty." Lola sits on the chair's edge like a song bird itching to fly. "She's…"
Caspian skims a record of the last council session and dips his quill in the inkpot. "Yes?"
"I'm concerned. She's… well, she's…"
"Yes?"
"Oh, to Tash with it!" Lola leans forward, bracing on the chair's arms. "Addie's not herself. And if I've noticed, I figure there's a good chance you have, too."
I liked being watched. I liked you watching.
An ink drop blotches the parchment.
Addie's behaving strangely with others, too? Last week, Doctor Cornelius said he noticed nothing amiss.
Caspian returns the quill to its pot. He will not be distracted by Addie's spiteful antics this close to Narnia's second-most major holiday.
"I am aware," he says, reaching for another report.
"So do something!" Lola inhales sharply, as if she surprised herself with her own boldness. "Sorry, Your Majesty, it's just…" Her teeth grind, and she straightens her shoulders. "I'm worried about her. And since you seemed plenty concerned about Addie's wellbeing while she was in Ettinsmoor -"
Caspian looks up sharply.
"- I thought you might know what's happened to her."
"Who told you I was concerned?"
Lola meets his gaze steadily. "Addie."
He leans forward.
"What else did she tell you?"
"She told me enough." Lola shifts, the cushion crinkling beneath her. "She told me you insisted she write to you and she didn't have a good reason why. I worked out the rest."
"And what have you 'worked out'?"
"That…" Lola works her jaw and swallows. "That she's been avoiding you since she came back, and you don't seem inclined to let her. That she's willing to cross worlds to be free of…"
Of you.
He knew as much already, but hearing it from Addie's friend - and a maid, no less - stings. The affairs of a king's heart ought not be public knowledge.
He should be far more skilled in hiding the ebbs and flows of his failed romances from the public eye. He is their king!
"I don't mean any disrespect," Lola continues hurriedly, though she speaks like she intends a pinch of it. "It's just that Addie seemed happier in Ettinsmoor, and then the werewolves attacked, and now she finally comes back and she's…" Her eyes glisten. "I look at her, and it's like a shadow's staring back. I'm telling you, something's wrong."
If Addie's also acting strange with her longtime friend, perhaps there's more at play than he first thought.
If her recent behaviour isn't that she's moved on and delights in spiting him, then… perhaps…
"Tell me what you mean," he says.
"She was short with my young son, Cesare, and she poured some kind of medicine in her tea."
This is all she has? A moment of impatience with a child and some medicine?
"That is hardly proof of foul play."
"And her hand? How's that for proof?"
Caspian frowns. "Her hand?"
He'd know if Addie's hands were amiss. She had them all over him just yesterday.
"Yes! Tash's sake, are you -" Lola clears her throat and gathers herself. "Sorry, Your Majesty. Her left hand is covered in burn scars. Like she'd stuck her hand in a blacksmith's forge."
Burn scars? He would've noticed, surely, he -
Addie kept her hand hidden. First with the sheet, then tucked into her skirts, just out of sight.
She was hiding it.
Why in Aslan's name didn't he realise? Was her attempt at seduction meant as a distraction?
"You didn't notice?"
Caspian lifts an eyebrow at her barbed tone, but Lola's scorn lingers like a bloodstain on white linen.
"It seems she was quite careful that I didn't," Caspian says. "Did she say how it happened?"
"Addie said she got trapped in a burning hut during the earthquake. I'm not sure if she was telling the truth." Lola rubs her forehead much like he does after meeting with Telmar's ambassador. "Anyhow, what can you - or we, I guess - do?"
As king, there is much he can do. But Lion only knows what he should do.
His attempts at conversing with Addie have led nowhere for months. Even were she forthcoming, Addie's always had a tenuous relationship with the truth.
Addie was alright until she travelled to Ettinsmoor.
If he summons Addie and interrogates her himself, he must keep his wits about him long enough to pry the truth from her lips. And if he cannot…
What then? House arrest with no proof of criminal intent? Assign Narnian bodyguards to follow her everywhere? Confine her to the city?
Caspian rubs his beard, close-cut stubble rough against his palm.
Or he waits to see what Addie's plans truly are. He's already assigned a spy to tail her - a mouse more skilled in stealth than combat. Addie surely hasn't abandoned her hopes of returning home; that's been her only desire since arriving in Narnia. Without the rings, she can do little.
But if he waits, if he allows her to roam as she wills and Addie returns to the north, is he allowing her to flee right into a wolves' den?
"We wait," Caspian finally answers. "So long as Adelaine remains in the city, she will be safe."
Lola scoffs as if he's an impertinent messenger boy and not the King of Narnia and of her - as if he suggested doing nothing at all.
"Wait? Wait on what, exactly?" Lola's eyes flash with brewing accusation. "You meddled in her life before, so do it again!"
Meddled!
"Explain," Caspian says, terse behind the shield of royal authority.
Nerves flit across the maid's face, but grit takes their place - grit Addie has, too.
"She told me about those reports you insisted on," Lola says sharply. "Reports and personal letters directly to you, even though she works for your Lord Chancellor. So if you'll excuse my impertinence, Sire, I'd call that meddling."
Caspian scowls.
He had reasons aplenty to keep Addie close. Reasons a simple maid is not privy to.
However…
If Addie has truly said nothing about the rings to Lola, her closest friend, then he owes her some small credit for her discretion. Even if she seems to have abandoned that particular virtue recently.
"Adelaine's research is of high import to the crown," Caspian says, calmer than he feels. "What you call meddling was a matter of Narnia's security."
"Was it?" Lola keeps her voice soft, but her eyes and the set of her jaw betray her. Both are harsh, accusatory, sour with resentment.
What has he done to merit a maid's resentment? Is her friendship with Addie behind this testy attitude?
And yet, Caspian can't quite condemn her, though his tongue itches with reprimands.
Understanding softens his tone, reminds him that a crumb of gentleness would not be misplaced here.
"Yes, it was," Caspian says. "The details are not your concern, but know I never meant Adelaine any harm."
Lola's eyes water, dark brown shining. "Maybe you don't, but I think she's in harm's way - or she was, and she doesn't want to say. I can't keep her from going back to Ettinsmoor, but maybe you can."
It is within his authority, certainly, but is it right?
Caspian rests his chin in his palm, moustache tickling his finger. Thus far, he has little evidence to restrict Addie's travel, beyond her public indiscretion. If, however, her hand is as marred as Lola's claimed, and if Addie sustained such an injury in Ettinsmoor, under Lady Opheodra's care…
Addie claimed her current lover as her bodyguard, and months ago, she reassured him that Lady Opheodra had seen to her protection. If Lady Opheodra assigned Addie's guard, then she assigned a man of questionable morals and even more dubious efficacy.
He will write to the Lady of Ettinsmoor demanding an explanation, borne in Swiftbeak's infallible talons. If he sees Addie's hand for himself and sends the falcon within the hour, Lady Opheodra's answer should arrive tomorrow.
"I will speak with Addie and get to the bottom of this," Caspian says. "If her wound is as serious as you say, I will discover its source."
"You're going to talk to her? That's it?"
"For now, yes." Caspian scribbles a reminder to write to Lady Opheodra in a corner of nearby parchment. Lola doesn't need to know the political details. "But hear this: Adelaine is a servant of the crown, and therefore under my protection, as is any citizen of Narnia. If anyone has done her harm, their punishment is my responsibility. I assure you, Adelaine will not leave this city until I have answers."
Lola's shoulders soften, though the concerned pinch in her mouth lingers. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
"Tell her nothing of our meeting," Caspian continues. "Keep an eye on her and report any further concerns to me directly."
Lola agrees, relief momentarily overtaking the grievances she apparently bears toward him for Addie's sake.
"You were the last person I wanted to bring this to," says the maid. "But I'm glad I did."
"Why is that?"
Lola crosses her arms, shoulders curled forward like she's cold.
"I was there," she says. "The morning she left. I held her before and after you left her, and I never want to see her broken like that again. But…" Lola's fingers curl and uncurl, fists half-hidden behind her arms. "But I've never seen her like this, either. I think something happened to her in Ettinsmoor."
Caspian swallows the ache of his and Addie's fraught goodbye and strokes his short beard.
"If that is the case," Caspian vows, "I will find out."
"Thank you."
Caspian wishes Lola a happy Christmas and dismisses her, his mind whirling.
Addie
Her days as a servant serve her well. She knows the passages and the shift schedules; a strategic hiding spot, a little convenient timing, and Addie slips into the king's study just before breakfast. Plenty of time to search.
Outside, the castle bustles on in merry oblivion, flush with holiday cheer and the anticipation of Christmas Eve. Bell-tipped hats jingle, troubadours sing holiday songs, and hooves clop rhythmically, as if dancing.
She has better things to do.
King Caspian is busy on the sparring field; even with Christmas tomorrow, he's chosen the sword over politics or joining his people's cheer. According to her observations, he rarely returns to the castle before eleven, but the cold may drive him inside sooner.
By the time dark clouds hide the brief morning sun, Addie's light-fingered, painstaking search bears fruit. The desk's second drawer is hollow when she taps. A latch in the back opens the false bottom.
Inside sit two keys - one plain iron, the other ornately gilded and patterned like a noble's armour.
She takes the iron one.
If she hadn't scoped the vault, she'd think the fancier key would be the one. But despite the treasures locked behind its doors, the vault's lock is unadorned, a block of unbreakable iron.
A familiar pattern breaks through the castle's hubbub. A long stride, heavy on the heel, quick with hurry.
King Caspian.
He's almost at the door. She doesn't have time to slip out.
Addie tucks the key under her breast, cool metal sprouting goosebumps up her chest, sets the desk to rights, and perches on the edge. Fortunately, she has an excuse for being in here that should keep him off-balance and avoid any awkward questions.
The king's rich baritone sounds outside the door, words bleeding together in hurry or distraction. With a click and a groan of hinges in need of oiling, it swings open.
"- the city as well, if you must! There are only so many places she can -"
Their eyes meet, and Caspian slows, then stops short. The faun at his side stumbles to keep from crashing into him and mutters an apology.
Addie curls her lips into a smile, hands hidden behind her skirt.
"Good morning, Your Majesty."
"You're dismissed, Phamrus."
As the faun bows and trots away, Caspian stares at her with eyes as black and infinite as the Sunless Sea.
"What are you doing in here?"
"I've been looking for you, too," Addie says, heels tapping solid wood as she swings her legs. "Hope you don't mind. It's a bit like old ti-"
Caspian slams the door and marches across the room, boots pounding over the carpet.
Addie jumps off his desk, heart thudding in her throat as Caspian bears down on her like a winter storm.
"I figured you need to sign these," she says in a hurry, brandishing the resignation letters she brought as an excuse. "If you'd be so kind -"
Caspian bats them aside with a casual backhand. The papers flutter to the ground as he cages her against the desk before she can slide away, his fingers closing around her wrists like chains, too fast and strong to throw off.
He still smells of the sparring field - of snow-cooled sweat and leather and polished armour. She can almost taste the salt of him as he pulls her hands into view, his burning gaze locking on the shiny patchwork of scars.
"Lion's Mane."
She tries to yank free and wins chafed wrists and mounting indignation. He has no right to manhandle her!
Caspian refuses to relent, leaning so close his hair tickles her cheek as he tries to meet her eyes.
"Addie… Explain this."
In this moment, she hates him.
She hates that Caspian utters her name like it's a tragedy, like he has the right to lament such a silly thing as mottled, chicken-texture skin. Like he's incensed, like just the sight of it aggrieves him.
He wasn't there. He doesn't get to pretend at caring now!
Her hands have ever been smooth or unblemished. By the fabric of her life's twisting path, her hands are strewn with callouses and scars from farm tools, knives, and hot ovens. A larger cosmetic disturbance is nothing, especially for so noble a cause as saving Opheodra's realm.
She throws his own name back at him, spitting each syllable like poison.
"Caspian, let go of me."
He keeps staring with that midnight gaze, oblivious or uncaring that she spoke.
Addie shoves at him, and it's like shoving a mountain and cursing it for not moving.
This, at last, tears Caspian's focus from her hands, but the weight of his fury steals her breath.
When he speaks, every word is deliberate, enunciated, impossible to ignore and heavy as the miles of earth above Underland.
"I've been looking for you since yesterday. You are not leaving this room until you explain this -" He firmly traces her webbed scars. "- to me."
Her mistake is meeting his eyes. Because for a precarious, foolish moment, the truth - of the ritual, the splitting earth, the stink of sulphur - creeps into her mouth, presses behind her teeth.
Addie swallows it, her mouth sour.
She can't betray Opheodra; what was she thinking? She took her tonic this morning, so what is this rattle between her ribs, this acrid snag in her chest?
Stupidity, that's what. Because like a mutt begging scraps from a bruising hand, she has a terrible habit of thinking King Caspian is earnest when Opheodra's music and medicine aren't here to remind her that she knows better.
"Wrong place, wrong time," Addie shrugs. "I got trapped in a hut during the earthquake and it caught fire. Spot of bad luck."
Caspian still doesn't release her.
"What else?"
The king's fathomless gaze sweeps over her, probing and invasive. His hands follow, calloused and rough and hot as hearth-warmed stones, skimming over her face, neck, collarbones, shoulders, hands, every sliver of exposed skin, in hawk-eyed vigilance for anything out of place.
"Alright then, help yourself," Addie says, arching her back and papering teasing over irritation. "If you wanted to put your hands all over me, you could've asked first."
Finally, Caspian straightens, his frantic touches slowing.
"Addie," he says, calm like the quiet before thunder. "Tell me what happened."
"Don't be so dramatic," she tuts. "I told you, a hut caught fire and I happened to be in it. Same thing probably happened to other people, too."
A push wins her a little space, but it costs her dignity; Caspian seizes her scarred hand and holds fast.
Lust is one thing, but this overbearing concern stinks of too much attachment. In her few months away, Caspian managed to end his courtship and rediscover the over-protectiveness of his youth?
Does he really think she'll fall for that again?
Ridiculous.
"Where was your bodyguard?"
Addie arches an eyebrow. "If you hadn't banned him from the castle, you could ask him right now."
"That can be arranged." Caspian turns to call for someone, and nerves jump in her stomach.
She forgot to tell Hallgrim her cover story.
"Fine," Addie blurts before Caspian can speak. "I ran ahead, alright? Hallgrim caught up in time to pull me out."
Caspian's hands tighten as he faces her again, dark eyes blazing.
"A half-competent bodyguard would have kept you close. He was charged with your protection, and he failed! This -" he snaps, pushing her own hand in her face "- should never have happened."
Addie narrowly stifles a guffaw. Even if she wanted to tell him the truth, Caspian wouldn't understand.
Realisation seeps in like a rolling fog.
Caspian went right for her hands. Like he knew what he'd find.
But… how?
"Someone told you," she accuses. Caspian's steely eyed glare all but affirms it. "Who?"
She's minimised her kitchen duties and kept her hands buried in dough or dishwater, but maybe someone noticed? Why would a random maid care?
Lola noticed, and she fussed like a mother hen. But would she run to tell Caspian? Though she respects him as king, her grudge for the past rivals Addie's own.
She would stop you if she could.
King Caspian will keep you hostage in his kingdom for all your days if you do not act swiftly.
Unless somehow, Lola and Caspian are conspiring together to keep her in Narnia.
"Don't deflect," Caspian answers, jaw clenched as if to bite the words. "Lady Opheodra assigned your bodyguard, did she not?"
Two of them, not that it matters.
"I like my bodyguard," Addie says, cocking her hip. "He doesn't hover."
Caspian's lip curls in a disgusted glower as he lifts her scarred hand between them.
"If he claims to protect you, it is he who should bear this wound," Caspian snarls. "He -"
"You know how I am." Addie shrugs, sliding her free hand up his chest.
She needs to distract him. The less said about her injury, the better, especially when Caspian's simmering in possessiveness poorly disguised as protectiveness.
"Even you had trouble keeping hold of me," she continues. "Speaking of -"
With her free hand, she gestures to the letters on the floor - one for Doctor Cornelius, and one for the castle headmistress.
"Would you please sign those so I can be on my way?"
Caspian retrieves the papers but still doesn't release her. "What are these?"
"Letters of resignation," Addie says. "Perla doesn't need me in the kitchen, and my research hasn't turned up anything. Doctor Cornelius can hire another assistant if he needs one."
Caspian makes no move to read or sign them. Instead, he reaches past her to put the letters on his desk.
"Then you intend to leave the capital?"
His voice is stony, but his features betray him - a frown edged with something brittle, fingers that tighten to bruising.
"After Christmas. It's time I settled elsewhere."
"Where?" Caspian peers down at her, and his brow furrows. "Ettinsmoor?"
Addie shrugs. "Does it matter?"
"It does," he answers tightly, tugging her closer like he would snap her like a bird's wings and cage her himself. "I would not see you return to the north with such… insufficient protection. You were badly hurt."
"By that reasoning, I never should've set foot in this castle again."
Caspian swallows and falls quiet, but his grip loosens enough she can pull free.
Her hand feels chilled in the absence of his touch.
Caspian nods at her abandoned letters. "Resign if you wish, but you cannot return to Ettinsmoor until you tell me exactly what happened to you."
Cannot? He wouldn't actually confine her here, would he?
Would he?
Addie leans against the desk and tucks her hands away, her skirt rustling stacks of paper.
"I already told you."
Again, that heavy, penetrating gaze, as if he can't decide whether to throw her in a cell or over his shoulder. Addie lifts her chin and stares back.
"I don't believe you," Caspian says. "Were your story true, you would bear other wounds - on your shoulders, your back, your legs, if your skirt caught fire. But from all I can see, this - don't hide it from me, Addie - is the only injury you sustained." He leans close, his breath warm across her skin. "If someone did this to you -"
Addie purses her lips. "Everything else healed."
"What else?" Then, like he's daring her: "List them, down to the slightest scratch."
She could invent a list, but Caspian's made up his mind. He wouldn't believe the truth if she told him, and more importantly, it's not his to know. He has no right!
If she can't distract him and she can't convince him, then that leaves…
"Let me guess," Addie begins, hand on her hip. "I can't leave until you see for yourself?"
"I never said -"
She sighs loudly. "Alright, if you insist."
She's unlacing her dress before Caspian can answer, and her shoulders are bare by the time he rallies an objection.
"You -"
Caspian cuts himself off with a gulp, hands clenched at his side as his eyes follow her bodice's slow, meticulous descent.
Another inch of skin.
Another.
Another.
One slightly too-deep breath will bare her from the ribs up.
Addie grits her teeth against the nerves pinching her stomach. Caspian should've stopped her by now, for the sake of his own chivalry.
But he hasn't.
If she backs down now, she's giving in. Giving up, letting him trap her here just because he claims to be worried.
She breathes.
Her bodice slips, cool air washing over her breasts and the vault key starting to slip, and then -
With a strangled sort of sound, Caspian catches her dress before it falls fully, and relief sighs out of her.
She knew he'd cave.
Caspian studiously looks aside as if the bookshelves hold critically important matters of state. As if he isn't the one keeping her modesty intact.
Addie holds herself perfectly still against the molten cage of his hands and wills her pulse to slow.
She feels more than sees Caspian's eyes drift to meet her.
She knows before Caspian lets go that she's won, that he won't press her further. Despite the temptation her body must offer, he's walking away, seeking refuge at the window and glowering at the snow-grey sky.
In the contest between lust, concern, and propriety, propriety won.
Back turned, Addie shrugs into her dress, her fingers clumsy on the laces, and nestles the key back under her breast.
This is a victory. This rushing noise in her ears is relief, the adrenaline of the king nearly calling her bluff, and the elation of using his own sense of honour against him.
She needs more tonic. The honeyed words, stiff chivalry, and reckless passion that won her over in her youth were cloying diversions masking a conqueror's heart. Opheodra showed her the truth.
Caspian speaks without turning.
"Something happened to you in the north, Addie. I will find out what."
How amusingly right he is. In the moors, in the cocoon of Opheodra's hearth, she found her freedom from him. She found peace, a gift from her only selfless friend who now awaits her in Ettinsmoor, who longs for her own home as much as Addie does hers.
Lady Opheodra trusted her with this mission. She can't fail now.
"I escaped you," Addie murmurs. She cinches her bodice too tight and too fast, pinching her skin. "That's what you can't stand, isn't it?"
Caspian continues as if she never spoke.
"Lady Opheodra was your hostess. I entrusted your safety to her, and she failed. I can only hope she will provide a clearer explanation than you have."
He dares to blame Opheodra? White-hot, caustic anger boils past her lips, too quick and violent to be tempered.
"She's shown me more kindness in a single season than you have since the day I set foot in Narnia!" Addie hisses, the smoke-sweet memory of Opheodra's endless charities flooding her mouth. It was Caspian who first broke her heart, and Opheodra who mended it.
"You bore no wounds before you visited her."
"Nor before I met you!"
The blow lands like a fist to a cheek, a crack she watches splinter through him with a vicious sort of vindication.
Keep striking. Keep him hurting.
"I am not yours to keep anymore, Your Majesty. I don't need your protection."
Caspian's shoulders square, his posture as rigid as stone.
"That is not for you to decide, Adelina."
That's not her name. To think he's called her stubborn!
And then it strikes her.
The most obvious blow.
Addie sidles behind him and glides her scarred hand down his arm. Though Caspian's profile is severe, he tracks her touch, some darker cousin to longing twisting his mouth.
"And what is your protection worth? Have you ever truly kept me from harm?"
She thinks of an arrow in her back, a knife at her throat, the sticky heat of her blood painting her skin. Wounds she took for his sake, stupid girl that she was.
"You may recall that your habit of dishonesty did much to thwart my efforts," he counters coolly, steadfast in his own self-righteousness.
Addie leans into him, tucks her temple against his broad shoulder and listens for the quiet rattle of guilt in his breath.
"Forgive me for saying so," she continues, words flowing like one of Opheodra's melodies. "But I don't think I've ever been safe in Narnia."
Almost…
"I was never in danger in England," Addie murmurs. "Give me the rings, Caspian. Let me go home."
Caspian turns away. "There is danger aplenty in that. For my kingdom as much as for you."
"I think we both know it's not really about your kingdom, or my safety." Addie squeezes his arm, then drops her hand. "You've kept me here long enough."
Jaw tightening, Caspian steps closer to the window, away from her.
"I will keep you here as long as I must."
His voice is as steady as the imperious resolve reflected in the window. Addie shakes her head, showing him only her disappointment. If not for his obsession, she wouldn't need to be so merciless.
"Then we'll both suffer for it."
It's a relief to turn her back, to retreat with the vault key safely tucked into her bodice and leave this impossible king to his brooding.
Let him brood. By midnight tomorrow, his objections will not matter.
When she's at the door, Caspian raises his voice.
"You are confined to the city until I receive word from Lady Opheodra explaining this matter to my satisfaction."
Shit.
Addie leaves without answering. Only when she's safely in the quieter servant passages does she surrender to a momentary flare of panic.
Caged, captured, trapped in the capital with the full power of the crown to keep her so, and Caspian dangerously suspicious of the last person she can truly trust.
It could take days for Opheodra to reply, if she's even at the manor. She might have returned to Underland to tend her kingdom of refugees, trusting that Addie would soon return with the rings.
Addie walks faster, stomach churning as her breath comes in harsh pants. If she fails…
She whips out the tonic and drinks until all she tastes is vanilla and herbs and peace and resolve.
Opheodra chose her. She trusted her, above all others, because they are the same. Two displaced souls trying to return home, fighting a world that makes a game of ensnaring unwitting visitors.
She will not be trapped here like some prized bird.
After all, she's escaped this castle before.
Today, her final preparations will proceed as planned, and tomorrow night, she will be free at last.
But first, she must warn Hallgrim, in case Caspian follows through on interrogating him.
To Lady Opheodra of Ettinsmoor,
It has come to my attention that the Royal Researcher Adelaine sustained certain grievous injuries while under your care. As you must recall, I explicitly allowed her sojourn in your lands under the condition that you would personally see to her safety as a servant of the crown and under the explicit protection thereof, and that in the event of any injuries or other disturbances to her person, you would promptly report every detail directly to me.
You must explain, then, why she has returned with a considerable disfigurement to her left hand.
Allow me to reiterate: her safety was your responsibility, and you have not only failed in that duty, but neglected to provide an account of your failure and proposed means of restitution.
I expect your prompt reply divulging the complete circumstances leading to Adelaine's injury, as well as what medical treatment she received and by whom it was administered, within three days.
King Caspian X of Narnia
Caspian
Lola was right. Something is very wrong with Addie.
After he seals his letter and sends it on Swiftbeak's fleet wings, Caspian summons the Captain of the Guard. Addie was less than forthcoming and Lady Opheodra's reply will not come sooner than two days hence, but Hallgrim is here, available for interrogation.
That man must know something.
Caspian paces, sweeping his hair from his face.
She was hurt, and he knew nothing of it.
Were Addie's lies to protect her bodyguard-turned-paramour? Or was she trying to shield Lady Opheodra from responsibility?
Regardless, he will have the truth, if he has to wrench it from her lover's throat himself.
There was no need to compromise Addie's dignity to unearth the matter when her bodyguard is so easily within reach.
He forces away thoughts of smooth, pale skin and the tantalising hint of pink.
Captain Gilus, a minotaur with one milk-white eye and a jagged scar bisecting his bullish face, arrives in stoic silence with a holly-berry wreath around his horns. His daughter's loving handiwork, no doubt.
"Go to Lady Opheodra's city residence and bring the northman you will find there to the throne room," Caspian orders without preamble. "Keep him under close guard."
"Right away, Sire."
His crown's weight is a comfort, his throne's solidity a blessing. These trappings of royalty give him the authority to mete whatever justice he sees fit in the matter of Adelina.
… Of Adelaine.
Caspian appraises the hulk of a man kneeling before him and finds him as coarse as he anticipated. The northman's beard is long and braided roughly, his features weathered, his eyes beady, and his expression as flat as stone.
He cannot fathom what Addie finds pleasing about this man.
"You were appointed as Adelaine's personal bodyguard, were you not?" Caspian begins.
"Yes." Hallgrim's voice rumbles low, like a boulder rolling down a mountain.
"By whom?"
"I was appointed by Lady Opheodra of Ettinsmoor."
"When?"
"On autumn's last day."
Caspian thinks back. The werewolves' attack on Osta occurred in late autumn. Was Hallgrim with Addie in the village?
When he asks, Hallgrim confirms it.
"Yes. I and my brother were assigned to guard her."
"She sustained no injuries?"
"A shallow bite to the arm," Hallgrim corrects. "Nothing more."
"And yourself?"
"Nearly lost my leg."
Caspian asks how, and the northman obliges. To hear him tell it, a werewolf chased Addie to a hut and he killed it, locked her inside, and defended the building until Lady Opheodra's forces arrived to eradicate the pack.
"By this telling, your vigilance and valour are to be commended," Caspian says. "But you are certain she sustained no other injuries on your watch?"
The northman nods.
"Then I am troubled," Caspian muses aloud.
He lets a silence stretch, but the northman offers no query, explanation, or confusion. He simply… stands there, more statue than man.
Caspian continues. "Perhaps you can explain to me how Adelaine came to be grievously burned while she was under your protection."
For the first time, Hallgrim hesitates, barely noticeable had Caspian not been waiting for it.
"An accident of circumstance, Sire," says the northman. "Borne of the earthquake."
"An accident that occurred with Adelaine under your care," Caspian snaps. "How?"
Hallgrim mirrors Addie's clipped, unsatisfying story - a burning hut, a brief entrapment, and her rescue at Hallgrim's hands.
The hut? A healer's dwelling in Wolfsmere, a remote village in Ettinsmoor's snowy north. The circumstance? Addie raced ahead eager to see the village and meet the villagers, and with the wolves gone, there was no reason to stop her.
A paltry excuse, and it doesn't sound like Addie; if the village was new to her, all its occupants strangers, she would have stuck close to familiar faces before sniffing out work to reassure her of her own usefulness. She might well have chosen to help the village healer, but not so immediately. Addie never takes her welcome for granted.
His Addie didn't.
"Why did you allow her out of your immediate reach?" Caspian says. "Was she not your charge to safeguard?"
Again, silence.
Caspian waits.
"There was no danger," Hallgrim answers, with no hint of shame. "The earth shook with no warning."
It did, but had Hallgrim kept her in reach, Addie might never have been harmed.
"Tell me, what punishment has the Lady of Ettinsmoor set for failure to protect one's charge?"
According to the laws of Narnia, a first offense merits demotion or dismissal, depending on the harm done and to whom. Hallgrim answers the same, though he admits Lady Opheodra dealt neither punishment to him. Because, in his words, he had done all he could and the Lady judged that sufficient.
The northman has not answered for Addie's wound at all. When pressed, he has no good reason for allowing Addie to roam the moors at her whim, nor for how he allowed her to wander so far that he could not reach her before the healer's dwelling went up in flames. Nor can he detail Addie's other injuries, which she must have sustained were this story true.
Like Addie, Hallgrim keeps to short, vague answers and offers nothing more no matter how Caspian presses him.
As this failed bodyguard has suffered no consequences for his failure, Caspian sends him to the dungeon, pending release or further punishment upon Lady Opheodra's reply. And if he tacks on public indecency for good measure, well, it is nothing the man doesn't deserve.
The herald is his only warning of Lady Lilliandil's arrival, a messenger sparrow swooping in with news that "The Lady of Stars has returned, Your Majesty! She entered the city moments ago!"
Caspian shoves aside the undecipherable tangle in his chest and greets her in the courtyard, where her glow twinkles off the Christmas tree's shiny ornaments.
He meets her in formality, as is appropriate.
"Lady Lilliandil," he says, bowing as she curtsies. "Welcome."
Lilliandil thanks him gracefully, her light subdued but her voice clear as Christmas bells and her features betraying no ill will, despite their dissolved courtship.
Not for the first time, he wonders why he could not love her as he wanted to.
Caspian crushes a pang of regret as soon as it arises.
Perhaps in another life. A life where they were both fresh-faced youths eager for adventure who found a merrily kindred spirit in each other. A life where he was a better man.
But here, in this one, they could not have made each other happy.
Caspian escorts Lilliandil into the castle and soaks up every detail as she regales him with her journey. She has fresh eyes, unclouded by grief or duty or resentment, and he is eager for her thoughts.
He missed her light.
"And how are you, Caspian?"
Caspian falls silent rather than betray the truth, his breath clouding before him. He tries for deflection, determined to keep Lilliandil far from concerns not her own, and asks about her holiday plans, but Lilliandil is not so easily redirected as she used to be.
"I would rather hear about you."
"I am quite well, as I have told you thrice now," she says, smiling too gently for the teasing in her words. "But you seem quite determined that I not hear how you have been this past season."
Caspian clasps his hands at his back and ushers Lilliandil into the garden. It was her favourite place in the castle. It is a far less welcoming place now, riddled with hibernating plants and dead stalks and leaves that crunch underfoot. The dryads have assured him spring will bring it to life again, but for now, the garden's only greenery is what coniferous shrubs could adapt to Narnia's more temperate climate.
"Well enough," he says tightly. "Eager for the holiday."
More accurately, he is eager for a brief respite from Addie's torments and Ettinsmoor's troubles, but Lilliandil need not trouble with those things.
They are not her burden.
He follows her under a trellis of dead vines, their steps carpeted by moss, and to the burbling fountain. Lilliandil's light dances best on water, each ripple and small wave tipped with silver in her presence.
"I couldn't help but notice," she begins, softly, "that Addie has returned."
Caspian stops with the fountain between them, the cascading water his shield.
"She has," he acknowledges. "The less said on that, the better."
Lilliandil trails her fingertips in the pool, ripples spreading from her touch and rocking paper-thin sheets of ice.
"I passed her in the street, though we did not exchange greetings. She seemed… troubled." Lilliandil sits on the fountain's ledge, a snow-dusted holly tree at her back. "As do you."
"It is not a happy tale," Caspian confesses. "I would spare you from it."
His troubles are his own; let Lilliandil carry the joy of the Christmas holiday. She at least is unburdened enough to enjoy it.
Yet, as their tender-footed conversation dies like roses in winter, he almost wants to tell her. If not to satisfy her curiosity, then just to say it aloud, to hear if he's gone as mad as he feels.
"Caspian," Lilliandil says, barely audible over the fountain and the damp wind promising more snow. "I know we parted ways, but it pains me to see you thus. If you wish to unburden yourself, I would gladly lend a listening ear."
He shouldn't.
And yet, when faced with such a sincere offer, one without ulterior motive or double meanings…
Caspian sits beside her on the fountain's freezing edge and gives in.
He tells her everything, from Addie's departure for Ettinsmoor to her hand to their tense conversation just this morning. Everything but the most salacious details, because those, Lilliandil does not need to know.
Although Addie delights in besmirching her own honour, he still has his. And he would take no pleasure in tainting hers.
Lilliandil flickers as she absently trails her hand through the frigid water, thinking.
"It sounds like quite the transformation," she begins. "Ever since… hmm."
"Since she went to Ettinsmoor," Caspian finishes, but Lilliandil shakes her head.
"You said her letters became abruptly brief in late autumn. Was that near the time of our…" She hesitates and casts her gaze away. "Of my departure from the capital?"
"Just before, yes."
"And you found nothing strange in her letters prior?"
Caspian thinks back, but there is nothing. Addie made pleasant conversation with him until…
After months of nothing substantial, sometimes I think I'll never find anything, and you've made your opinion on experiments abundantly clear. I never expected to stay in Narnia this long.
Until she mentioned the rings.
Caspian recites the thrust of that letter and Addie's next two, the latter of which he received the very afternoon he and Lilliandil ended their courtship. "Somehow all this is about her getting home, I'm sure of it," he says. "She's upset that I won't risk Narnia to let her go."
His permission to use them will not be won by the demands of his prick or Addie's longing for England. Nothing but clear answers and certainty their use won't jeopardise his kingdom will sway him. He's made that more than clear.
Then what does Addie intend? One last act of spiteful defiance in the face of her failed research and his stony resolve?
How has Lady Opheodra become incompetent? She was too slow to ask his aid against the Giants, but Ettinsmoor laid quiet for three years before the werewolves prowled the plains. Werewolves, pirates, now Addie…
Ettinsmoor borders Witch Country; Trumpkin believes the land itself is tainted with dark magic, that its troubles are unfortunate, but to be expected. But Doctor Cornelius believes Ettinsmoor is a part of Narnia, and therefore under Aslan's protection. In his words, neither the land nor its people are inherently wicked, only toughened by the north's harsh elements.
Perhaps Lady Opheodra's leadership isn't suited to the moors.
Caspian rises to his feet, pacing and crunching the occasional dead leaf underfoot. Whether Opheodra's failures are malicious or simple ineptitude, she must answer for them.
Most especially for what she allowed to happen to Addie.
"These many months, she's longed for home," Lilliandil says. "Could her change in attitude be patience run dry?"
Caspian nods. "Very likely it is. Yet when I look into her eyes, there is… something. Something not quite right."
Lilliandil scoops an icy leaf from the fountain. "Without having spoken to her myself, I can't say I've observed anything amiss. But if there is any chance the only trouble is incompatible desires, you might consider…"
"Yes?"
Lilliandil folds her hands in her lap, wet fingers dampening her skirt. "You might consider letting her go."
Let her go? Back to Ettinsmoor? To England?
"Out of the question," Caspian answers. "Lion only knows what would happen to her. As a servant of the crown, she is still under my protection."
"I understand your concern," Lilliandil says.. "Truly, I do. But…. Well, did you not say she resigned from her employment just this morning?"
And thus threw off the mantle of his protection.
Or tried to. He still has not signed her papers, and he will not until someone explains Addie's state to his satisfaction.
"I don't blame you for being cautious," Lilliandil continues, soft with reassurance that falls flat. "I only wonder if Addie feels… trapped. I wonder if that is why she's pushed you away so harshly."
"I don't care how she feels!" Caspian snaps, pacing again, the heat of his agitation warding off winter's chill. "I… As king, one of my duties is to keep those under my rule safe, and she isn't. Not in the north."
Lilliandil rises to stand in his path. Caspian shortens his stride and stops, every breath of frigid air sharp in his chest.
"Then tell her that," says Lilliandil.
What, that he needs her safe? That despite his better judgement and her vindictive efforts to the contrary, he still cares enough to prevent harm to her? That he wishes he'd never let her leave the city in the first place?
"That would solve nothing," he says. "She wouldn't understand."
"Have you tried to explain it?"
"Of course I have." Caspian pushes his hair back from his face. "It's not a matter of explaining it in a way she understands. Addie knows the dangers, and she does not care. Not if it can get her away from me, it seems."
That, at least, matches his Addie. She never cared about danger, just about who - or what - she wanted.
That was once him. Now it's the northman.
"Not your practical concerns, Caspian. I meant your heart."
Caspian scrubs a hand down his jaw. "What does that have to do with any of this?"
"You care what happens to her."
That is no great secret - hardly noteworthy, even.
"She knows that," Caspian says. "And she does not care."
"And does she know why?"
He swallows. "She's a guest of Narnia, and therefore my responsibility," he says. "That's reason enough."
Lilliandil smiles gently. "But it is not the only reason."
Sighing, Caspian returns to the fountain and sits, suddenly grateful for the cooling spray despite the frosty weather.
"If she knew the truth, she'd only use it to better grind her heel into my chest," he says, more resigned than he feels. "And moreover, her affections lie elsewhere."
"The northman you mentioned, her bodyguard?"
At his nod, Lilliandil sits beside him, glowing dimly. The fountain's trickle fills the quiet between them. Overhead, the cloud cover is thickening, promising more snow before day's end.
"If Addie's mind is made up, then perhaps there is little to do but wish them well and part ways as amicably as you can."
Amicably? Caspian fails to hide his scoff. Addie's incompetent paramour deserves nothing but a damp, dark cell where he can rot in his own unrepentant failure. Marcos could use the company.
He goes to speak, but Lilliandil holds up a fervent hand.
"I know this isn't what you wish to hear, but it may be all that's left to you. Though you may not have her heart, or her care, you can still choose to be gracious."
Caspian grips the stone ledge, his fingers stiff with cold. Addie makes graciousness so very difficult.
"This wound will heal with time," Lilliandil continues. "But for a wound to heal, it must be cleaned. For your own sake, don't let this fester. Lift the order of confinement, wish Addie and her paramour well, and send them on their way, secure in the knowledge you've done as right by them as you have yourself."
This is the best he can do? Let her go?
It should be nothing. He has done it before.
Caspian opens his mouth to agree when he remembers an important detail he neglected to mention.
At his grimace, Lilliandil tilts her head. "What's wrong?"
"I fear any expressions of goodwill would ring false," Caspian says. "I… may have thrown her bodyguard in the dungeon."
Lilliandil is still a moment, her face blank.
"Oh dear."
He summons Addie to the throne room for propriety's sake, but he does not wear his crown. He would speak to Addie as Caspian the man, not Caspian the king. If she even cares for the difference.
He does, and that is reason enough.
Addie throws open the doors in a temper so acute he almost mistakes her for her younger self - the maid whose flagrant disregard for etiquette somehow captured his heart.
Would that they were their younger selves, that time could turn back a year or five.
"First you trap me in your capital, and now you arrest my guard?" Addie stomps down the carpet, the fire in her cheeks as red as holly berries - the flush of anger, not desire. "If you wanted me all to yourself, you could at least give me some say in the matter!"
Caspian's heart jerks. It hurts to see her so familiar.
He missed her fire.
Caspian squares his shoulders and appraises Addie's petulant approach from the comfort of his throne. How gratifying it would have been had she stormed into this room thusly in the spring! They might have had it out properly without months of dancing around each other.
"That is not my purpose," he says. "And you ought to know better than to think so."
Addie sneers, scorn distorting her pale features.
"Prove it," she snaps. "Let me go home!"
Caspian keeps his expression impassive and takes a slow breath.
You can still choose to be gracious.
Lilliandil warned him he'd have to be the one to forge a kinder parting, that Addie might not - and likely would not - reciprocate.
Caspian steels himself and meets Addie's bluster with calm.
"The moment I can allow your return without risking my kingdom's safety, I will do so," Caspian says. "Until then, there are words between us still unsaid. I -"
Addie stops at the stairs to his throne, her hazel eyes blazing.
"There's nothing to say. You know what I want, and you'll never -"
Caspian lifts a hand, pleasantly surprised when she heeds it.
"Enough, Addie, let me speak. Listen for a few minutes, and that will be the end of it. But I must say this, and you must hear it."
Addie crosses her arms and glowers in silence.
Be gracious. Let her go.
"I've lifted your order of confinement," he says. "Go where you will; I won't stop you."
Addie arches an eyebrow. "You'll forgive me if I'm skeptical. I assume you have conditions?"
He doesn't bother to deny it; it's true.
"If returning to Ettinsmoor is your wish, then you may. With an escort of guards personally chosen by me."
Scowling, Addie huffs a bitter laugh, as caustic as forge fumes. "Let me guess, they're on permanent assignment?"
"No. They will escort you there and return." Caspian leans onto his arm, chin in hand. "Unless you'd like their company?"
"I'd like my freedom," she snaps. "Is that so much to ask?"
She has had nothing but freedom these past months!
Caspian shifts, stalling until he trusts himself to respond charitably.
"I do ask that you stay in the city until the matter of your injury is dealt with," he says. "But I will not force you."
"And my guard?"
He resolved to be gracious, not blindly forgiving.
"Until his failure to execute his duty is sufficiently explained by himself or Lady Opheodra, he remains here," Caspian answers. There is still justice to be dealt. "As I said, my guards will be your protection."
Addie glares up at him. "Bit excessive, isn't it? Especially since I'm not technically employed by the crown anymore."
It is with a little - a very little - relish that he tells her technically, she still is.
"Until I sign your resignation letters, yes, you are. And I have not."
Addie's scoff echoes in the cavernous room, mockery clearly meant to bait him.
He will not take it.
He will not.
"I should've guessed as much," she sneers.
What traces of her old self she blazed in have burned away, swallowed up by contempt he's had too much practice stomaching from her.
This may be the last time he has to.
Caspian grips his throne, ornate carvings of eagles and compasses digging into his palm. If this is their last conversation, he doesn't want it to end as the others have - in bitterness and anger.
He breathes deep and prays to the Lion for patience, for magnanimity, for the grace to keep from saying cruel things he will later regret.
And so, rather than scorn she well deserves, he gives her the truth.
"I need you to be safe, Addie. Surely you can understand that."
For a moment, she stills, and something flickers in her eyes.
"Not really," she says.
Did he imagine the slight catch in her voice?
Caspian gestures at her hand, tucked under her arm and out of sight. "As king…"
No, he does not wish to speak to her as a king.
Only as himself.
"I'm concerned," Caspian says firmly. "And nothing you or your guard has said has convinced me I shouldn't be."
Addie's arms tighten, hands fisting as she looks away.
"You know I hate your stifling attempts at protection."
"I know." Honesty, that - as bitter as Calormen coffee brewed too strong. "This will be the last time."
Another flicker, gone in a blink, and then Addie is lifting her chin and looking every inch the indifferent ex-lover.
"Good," she says.
So be it.
He asks for her plans - to leave the city a week after Christmas and never return - and then there is nothing more to say, except -
"Be careful, Addie."
She clasps her hands behind her back and nods once, slowly, not quite looking at him.
Caspian watches thick snowflakes drift by the stained-glass windows rather than watch her leave.
He's seen enough of that.
A/N: There's your 9k! Let's all hope Ch. 84 doesn't take that long 😅 I haven't even started it yet so we're probably looking at 2-3 weeks for an update. (And if someone could kindly wallop Caspian and Addie over the head and make them hurry up, that'd be great.)
Taking bets on if Addie pulls off her evil little plan or if Caspian catches on 👀 Thoughts?
Chapter 84 Preview:
"A little more, Mossmire," Addie says. "A little... yes, perfect."
That's one vial drained. Fortunately, she has two more.
Addie stirs the pastry filling thoroughly and spoons it onto perfect squares of dough, leaving Mossmire to pinch the pasties closed.
'Happy Christmas, Caspian.'