What Grows Cannot Be Splintered Part IV: Chapter 77, a chronicles of narnia fanfic

A/N: Who's excited after the last chapter? 😏 I know I'm still giddy, so enjoy!

Chapter 77 Content Warnings: N/A

Chapter 77: the ghost in my mirror

Addie,

Forgive my informal salutation; I will correct it in the next letter if you wish.

I realise now why you sought to reestablish the formalities between us. My familiarity was meant in friendship, but I see it was presumptuous and caused you discomfort.

I am sorry.

I spoke with Lady Lilliandil shortly after receiving your last letter. There is something I must tell you, before the rumour mill tells you for me. But first, you must know you did nothing to cause it. This was Lilliandil's choice, as well as my own. Do not take on guilt for her sake.

To the point: our courtship is ended. Lady Lilliandil is my guest and nothing more. There will be no wedding, no proposal.

I tell you this only to set your mind at ease.

No, that's not quite true. I also hope to reassure you that our continued correspondence will harm no one, as there is now nothing technically improper about it. Admittedly, I hope for more friendliness and open discussions between us. I know you wish to return home, and I will not stand in your way, but we needn't be strangers until you do.

Sincerely,

Caspian

To His Royal Majesty, King Caspian X,

Very well, I will continue these dual correspondences.

My report is attached.

Respectfully,

Adelaine

Caspian

Caspian heaves a sigh and leans back in his chair, letting the letter drop to his desk. He wanted her response, and that is certainly answer enough.

He ought to reply with equal formality.

Caspian spends an hour trying to summon the right words - to no avail. Dozens of crumpled letters litter the floor between his desk and his fireplace.

Lilliandil departed for a tour of Narnia yesterday morning, heading south to chase the sunlight and reasonable weather while it lasts. After failing her in their courtship, facilitating her explorations was the least he could do.

It was for the best. He's prudent enough to understand that Lilliandil wanted more than he could give, that he expected only a fellow ruler and thus discarded matters of the heart.

Lilliandil is a woman who wants to love her husband. She doesn't have to marry for duty as he ought.

He should have realised that sooner. His heart is a scarred, hollowed-out thing, and he should have realised he couldn't offer it to her in good conscience. What he needs is a marriage of duty and nothing more.

And yet, if he had a choice…

He is a king. Kings do not get the luxury of marrying for love or desire.

Caspian balls up his latest attempt and throws it toward the fire. The paper bounces and rolls, stopping just short of the flames. It bore only her name - Addie's English name, Adelaine, that still tastes foreign on his tongue.

He preferred writing to just Addie. The simplicity of her name brought equal measures of past fondness and hope for new beginnings. Their romance ended badly, yes, but these past months he's found himself gradually forgiving her and hoping for a gentler parting.

He hoped for a friend, because he's still fond of her and she witnessed things he can never explain to someone who wasn't there.

But friendship must go both ways, and Addie has made her preference clear.

If only she'd say so explicitly, as she was once so wont to do! He would take her indignation, her affront, her righteous frustration, if only she would talk to him.

One thing he dislikes about this new Addie is how slow she is to recriminate him. The Addie he knew spoke fire before she spoke sense, but the heat of her feelings - anger, pain, love, lust, all of it - made him feel more alive.

Now Addie shares little of her thoughts and feelings - a consequence of England, or of him, too?

Whatever the case, he'd rather Addie be here, in his castle.

Caspian looks around at his abandoned drafts and crumpled attempts to write. With another sigh, he takes up his quill.

Perhaps further explanation is warranted.

Adelaine,

I appreciate your continued efforts. Your work has considerably enhanced Narnian scholars' knowledge of Ettinsmoor's history.

Now, if you will excuse a brief discussion of a more personal nature:

Looking back, I suspect my last letter lacked some context. Perhaps, in addition to your concern for Lady Lilliandil's feelings, you harbour reservations about my sincerity. Allow me to put your worries to rest. (If I have wrongly assumed your hesitations, please correct me at once.)

It is true that upon first sight of you, I was… disconcerted. You know the circumstances of our parting better than anyone; you must understand that I thought the matter finished, and at first glance, I consigned your sudden return to ill fortune meant to test me.

In short, I was angry. To see you again so suddenly, after four years of mourning you - mourning us - at the very moment I had begun to move forward?

It seemed a cruel twist of fate, too well-timed for comfort.

But now… now, I am glad. Despite my initial reservations, I am grateful we have the opportunity to discuss - and perhaps heal - the old wounds between us so we may part on better terms with the understanding we lacked in our youth. That is all I desire from our correspondence.

To that end, and for the sake of your safety, I again ask you to return to the capital. I won't command you to do so, but I'd feel more at ease knowing you're out of Ettinsmoor. I fear the north's woes are not yet concluded.

Sincerely,

Caspian X

To His Royal Majesty, King Caspian X,

I'm glad my work has been useful to Narnia's scholars. Doctor Cornelius requested an updated catalogue of records; should I make a copy for you?

Please see my attached report for further information.

Respectfully,

Adelaine

Adelaine,

Doctor Cornelius welcomes your continued contributions, though he has doubtless told you the same himself. No need to copy the catalogue for me; I will obtain it from the Doctor if I have need of it.

Indulge me a moment, if you would. I've been thinking of our conversation on the beach. It gave me insight on matters that had long tormented me.

You said there are things you regret about the way you left. What, specifically? I, too, have many regrets, and perhaps we can absolve each other with the benefit of time and hindsight.

I regret my coldness. I was harsher than you deserved, and I must add that to my list of failings. And yet, after hearing you speak of your mother and how grateful you were to find her, I am a little less pained by our parting - bitter and imperfect as it was - if it led you to her.

However, I still struggle to understand how you couldn't have known. Does the manner of your travel affect your memory? When you first came to Narnia, were you too young to remember your parents, or did you purposely bury the truth until you forgot them? Was it only by Aslan's word that you remembered them again?

I hope you're staying warm; I hear yet another snowfall has descended on Ettinsmoor.

Cordially,

Caspian X

To His Royal Majesty, King Caspian X,

Very well; do you need any other copies?

Please see my attached report for further updates on my research. And yes, it snowed, then rained, then froze. All the trees sparkle. As I've said before, Ettinsmoor has its own beauty.

Respectfully,

Adelaine

Adelaine,

As you wish; I understand if you'd rather not discuss the past any further, though I hope you will be more amenable sometime in the future. Instead, will you tell me about your homeland? Tell me of your mother, if the memories are not too tender. If they are, tell me about the countryside or the city. Tell me of your life in that land, of which I know so little. There must be more than you divulged to Lady Lilliandil and myself, and I have many questions.

As I wrote previously: No need to copy records for my sake. I will obtain the documents from Doctor Cornelius if needed.

Cordially,

Caspian X

To His Royal Majesty, King Caspian X,

Understood. Do you require anything other than my continued reports?

This week's is attached.

Respectfully,

Adelaine

Adelaine,

I am in receipt of your latest report, and pleased to see your continued progress. However, there is one other matter I would set to your mind. It concerns His Majesty.

Let me assure you I would not address this with you had I not exhausted all other methods.

In short, His Majesty would benefit from your complete replies. While I commend your commitment to maintaining appropriate distance, the king has been much distracted of late, and upon careful questioning, I traced the source of his disquiet to you.

If you would be so kind, put a tactful end to the hope I fear has risen in him. It is in the kingdom's best interests, as well as his.

Regards,

Doctor Cornelius

Addie

Hope…

Addie flops onto her bed, the letter in her hand fluttering to the nightstand. She really was too friendly before Opheodra intervened, wasn't she?

Addie covers her face and groans into her hands.

This makes no sense!

The Caspian she knew never so much as looked at another woman with interest. Through every trial and argument and betrayal, no matter what she did, Caspian's eye never wandered. Her Caspian was loyal, noble, a well-mannered, gentle, protective-to-a-fault boy she watched grow into a man who lost more than anyone should and still loved with his whole heart. God, how he loved her when she let him.

Now Caspian's in love with Lilliandil. The lady's a star, for God's sake, and she's the most beautiful person in the whole of Narnia and probably every other kingdom.

What the devil's gotten into him?

Maybe it's all a misunderstanding; that's possible, isn't it? For all his courtly manners, Caspian can be terribly obtuse.

Addie rolls onto her side and hugs a pillow.

Or…

He's been… different, since you left.

The king of Narnia is not in the habit of 'friendliness and nothing more.'

Or Opheodra and Lola are right. Lola even said Caspian isn't the same man she knew.

But they don't know about the rings.

Outside, the wind howls by, rattling the balcony doors. White flurries swirl through the air and frost has crept over the window panes, a stark pattern of beauty.

It's so damned cold.

Addie leaves the comfort of her bed to stoke the fire, burning low after hours of neglect. When she prods the embers with the fire poker, the flames flicker green. "Copper-tipped," Opheodra explained the first time it happened. "It sparks thusly if the coals are hot enough. A dwarf showed me the trick shortly after I first came to Ettinsmoor. Fascinating, isn't it?"

Addie feeds the fire kindling and a few more logs. As the flames catch, musk-sweet smoke curls into the chimney. Addie breathes deep. The scent dissipates quickly, and fire always smells best in its first moments.

Her thoughts, however, linger.

What if there's more to Caspian's letters than polite inquiries? If her research on the rings is all that matters to him, he would've read her reports and said little else. There's no reason for him to write so much, to try to entice her back to his castle, to write seven times in as many days for fear a werewolf swallowed her.

How did he even know she was at Osta? Addie didn't mention the village by name before she left.

Cair Paravel… the beach… You don't need to rush out again… his frantic letters while she was in Osta…

Could Opheodra be right? It can't be a dalliance - Caspian can't have changed that much - but is there something…

Heat pricking her skin, Addie inches closer to the fire and chews her cheek to rawness, a taint of copper in her mouth. Maybe she doesn't know Caspian as well as she thought.

What if… what if he's… what if he still -

No, not still, but what if he's starting to -

Impossible. Anything beyond his usual manners would mean he's forgiven her, at least in some measure, for breaking his heart.

Sweats beads on her brow as a log pops and the flames climb. Addie scoots back; she's used to stoking kitchen hearths, not the tamer fires meant only for warmth.

With a grumble, Addie abandons the fire and throws open her balcony doors. The icy wind gusts in her face, snow stinging her cheeks and bringing clarity.

He broke your heart. Did you forget that?

Getting away from the capital, from him, it's been good for you.

No good can come of him sniffing around. So don't let him.

She lingered in Narnia to glance Caspian from afar - actually talking to him again was never the plan. If she'd summoned her wits and signed the headmistress's ledger under a pseudonym, she could've visited with her family here - Lola, Perla, and now little Cesare - while Caspian would never have known she'd returned.

Addie blows on her hands and pulls her robe tighter. She wanted to see their lives were happy and full so she could leave them - and Caspian - to carry on in peace. The Narnian chapter of her life was supposed to be over.

After months of trying to get home, she lost sight of her original purpose.

What does it matter if Caspian's letters remind her a little of her Caspian, that dark-eyed, tender-hearted prince she loved by candlelight when they were both young and foolish and desire was the only thing between them? Any draw to him she feels now is nothing but the siren call of a simpler time before they failed each other so utterly.

Addie shakes her head. She can't live on scraps of memory and a reimagined romance. He's not hers and she's not his, as much by his choices as her own.

She's long outgrown hope.

It doesn't matter what Caspian is or isn't feeling. Even if he found it in himself to forgive her and wanted to try again, her answer would be the same:

No.

If Caspian, too, holds fondness for their past, if he's tempted by her presence at all - and he shouldn't be, because now he has Lady Lilliandil - it would mean nothing. He could write to her tomorrow confessing desire, and it wouldn't - can't - matter.

Because even if Caspian feels something for her, what's to say he'll treat her differently? For all his charm, Caspian still dismisses her ideas - I forbid it; is that understood? - still doesn't trust her - You will tell me why you returned. You will tell me what you intend by lingering here. - still looks down on her - Your determination is to be commended, though your judgement is not.

The snowstorm swirls around her, the cold easily piercing her robe and shift. Addie shivers and stands her ground, resisting the tempting fire inside.

She's older and wiser than she was. Any fool can see where another entanglement with Caspian would lead.

It would end as it did before - in heartbreak and ruin.

They might find happiness for a little while. They'd share nights in his study, her with research and Caspian with royal papers. There would be passionate nights and pleasantly sore mornings, lingering embraces and fierce kisses, teasing and tenderness.

But when the next trial came, one of two things would happen:

One, she'd run.

Or two, Caspian would abandon her. He'd stare right into her treacherous, fearful heart, curl his lip in disgust, and dismiss her.

How do you expect me to believe you?

You say I don't trust you. You do not trust me, either.

Run, Adelina. I will not stand in your way.

Addie turns her face into the wind and welcomes the numbness spreading over her cheeks.

Get rid of this, she wills the storm. Carry my thoughts of him far away.

The wind dies down.

Her thoughts remain.

Friendship, desire, love - it all means nothing without trust. And she and Caspian stopped trusting each other long ago. Their only ending would be another bitter parting of failure, mistrust, and fear.

Don't you start this. Don't you dare.

Addie swallows her tears before they can fall and freeze on her face.

Why did she indulge him? In her foolish relief to receive something other than Caspian's anger, she encouraged him - and herself.

A little happiness isn't worth the heartbreak that follows. Caspian taught her that.

It's time to stop this.

Breath clouding, Addie goes inside, slamming the balcony doors behind her. Snowflakes melt in her hair, casualties to the fire's heat.

At her desk, a quill and fresh parchment await.

Addie plops into her armchair, one leg tucked under the other, and opens the inkpot.

To His Most Royal Majesty, King Caspian X,

With all due respect, what the devil have you been playing at? In case it wasn't obvious -

No, too aggressive, and the formality sounds contemptuous.

To His Royal Majesty, King Caspian X,

If you'll pardon an irregular correspondence, there is something I'd like to -

What is she, a supplicant in the throne room?

Addie balls up both attempts and throws them into the fire. The flames devour the paper, though not her mounting frustration.

Caspian,

Apologies for not using your title; I'll go back to that in my report. For now, I think we'd best clear something up. I'm not feeling especially patient, so you'll excuse me if I get right to it.

While I appreciate the manners behind your pleasantries and conversational inquiries, I'd rather we keep this as it is - a formal correspondence and nothing more. I'm sure you're just being polite, but, respectfully, there's little utility in us conversing about anything but official business. Don't you think?

So, that in mind, how about this: I'll send you reports and nothing more, and you stop asking about the weather or Ettinsmoor's festivals or whatever else strikes your fancy.

Agreed?

Adelaine

Passable, but her brusque replies already said as much. Then again, Opheodra said Caspian hasn't taken the hint.

It's not quite… right.

Addie sets the draft aside, takes a fresh piece of paper, and dips her quill.

Three, four, five drafts later, she hates every word she's written. Too spiteful, too pleading, too formal, too friendly, too needy. She should sound resigned, mature, wise, measured. Instead, she sounds like a jilted ex-lover or a whining child.

Chair creasing the sheepskin rug underfoot, Addie walks to her bed and rereads Doctor Cornelius' letter.

Exhausted other methods… disquiet… tactful end…

His Majesty would benefit from your complete replies.

What has Caspian been writing, anyway?

Addie abandons her quill and her desk before she second-guesses herself. A quick peek at Caspian's recent letters, then she'll stop this train before it comes any closer to the station.

Addie steals through the hallways like a thief, her candle and snow-midnight the only sources of light. The manor's silence follows her, a vaguely comforting companion, as the snowstorm outside rattles the windows. Tiptoeing in her thick slippers, she passes the heavy wooden doors to Opheodra's suite and creeps downstairs. Ever since the villagers returned to their homes, Ettinsmoor's wintery bluster has wrapped the estate in a cloak of pristine solemnity, as clean and crisp as the snow at dawn.

Opheodra keeps Caspian's letters in the library, tucked in a box "...as royal correspondence ought," she'd said.

"Whatever you think best," Addie replied as she purposely looked away, the better to avoid temptation.

Yet here she is, skulking through the halls.

The library door opens on silent hinges, and she steps inside with a shiver as her breath fogs before her.

Darkness cloaks the room's polished shelves and leather-bound books Addie knows as well as her own name tower in the shadows, sheltering her like watchful friends. Books don't judge; they ask for nothing but a reader to flip their pages and carry their words to the world beyond.

Addie walks to Opheodra's desk without bumping a single bookshelf. At this point, she knows this library better than the castle's.

The winter storm rages outside, snowflakes swirling past the window above the desk. Addie's candle sputters as a draft hisses through the glass. Checking the window latch, she finds it half-done. With a push and a click, Addie rights it.

Now for the letters.

Before Addie looked away, Opheodra folded Caspian's letters into a cherry wood box and put the box in her desk's upper left drawer. Addie opens the drawer and there it is - easy.

Addie glances over her shoulder, scanning the library for company. Her stomach bubbles with adrenaline, but there's no one there. Nothing but darkness and imagined judgement, the tsk tsk tsk of a disappointed friend who isn't there.

She sets her candle on the table and opens the box - unlocked, a mark of trust she's betraying - and a pile of letters stare back at her.

She shouldn't. Didn't she ask Opheodra to filter Caspian's letters so she could avoid the heart-tug of reading Caspian's words in his own hand?

Addie shakes off the guilty hesitation and sits. She just needs to read a little, so she knows how to make Caspian stop. These letters were meant for her, anyway.

The first letter crinkles in her hands, startlingly loud in the empty room. Addie freezes, nerves skittering up her neck, but a quick glance around the room proves she's alone.

She unfolds the letter and reads.

Adelaine,

As you wish; I understand if you'd rather not discuss the past any further, though I hope you will be more amenable sometime in the future. Instead, will you tell me about your homeland?

Discuss the past? Caspian's barely managed ten words put together on the subject.

The rest of the letter is innocent. Caspian's always been curious, and if not for their fraught past, he probably would've questioned her about England for hours.

There must be more than you divulged to Lady Lilliandil and myself, and I have many questions.

The paper creases in Addie's grip. Caspian and Lady Lilliandil can damn well wait until Christmas to hear more about England.

Scowling, Addie sets the letter aside and opens the next.

You said there are things you regret about the way you left. What, specifically? I, too, have many regrets, and perhaps we can absolve each other with the benefit of time and hindsight.

I regret my coldness. I was harsher than you deserved, and that I must add to my list of recriminations. And yet, hearing you speak of your mother and how grateful you were to find her, I am a little less pained by our parting, bitter and imperfect as it was, if it led you to her.

What charming words. She could almost believe it, this talk of regrets and absolution.

Addie leans back in the chair and sighs. The problem with Caspian is she knows he truly means what he says.

This letter… It sounds a bit like her Caspian. Not the Caspian that spurned her, Caspian the prince, with more humility than she thought a royal capable of. This is…

This is what she wanted Caspian to say that solstice night, when she came to him in tears after Aslan summoned her. What might they be now if he'd said I believe you, if he'd held her without letting go and told her It's alright, Addie, I don't blame you, I'd want to know my family, too?

No, that's not what she wanted to hear. At the time, foolish girl that she was, she only wanted him.

She wanted him to say It doesn't matter and I love you and I am still yours and Let me be your family, make a new one with me.

Addie swipes at her nose, runny from the cold, dry air. Carefully, she folds the letter and sets it aside.

Caspian's regrets have come too late.

Addie opens the next letter.

His last letter? What did he say? Is that letter what concerned Opheodra?

Here, regarding her return to Narnia, he says:

Caspian isn't sniffing around, then.

So that's that. Caspian only wants to foster understanding and forgiveness so they can part amicably this time.

How very… gracious of him.

Addie hastily refolds the letter and sits back, staring into her flickering candle.

She was right; Caspian's friendliness is nothing but agreeableness and cordiality. That's good - if Caspian was trying to reel her back into his bed, she'd thoroughly scold him in person and on the page, as much for her own sake as for Lady Lilliandil.

The star is kind, tender-hearted, practically angelic. She deserves a loyal lover - fiancée - husband. Fortunately, Caspian has loyalty in spades.

Addie takes a deep breath to steady herself and unfolds the last letter.

Addie,

Forgive my informal salutation; I will correct it in the next letter if you wish.

I realise now why you sought to reestablish the formalities between us. My familiarity was meant in friendship, but I see it was presumptuous and caused you discomfort.

I am sorry.

I spoke with Lady Lilliandil shortly after receiving your last letter. There is something I must -

"Oh, my sweet Addie."

Addie jumps, the letter fluttering to the desk as she scrambles out of the chair. "Opheodra! I was just… I…"

Opheodra steps into the candle's flickering light, her eyes unyielding.

"You are in love with him, aren't you?"

Every excuse dies on her tongue.

Deny it, hisses a frantic voice inside her. Deny it, you idiot, you know better!

Yes, she does. She came here to put an end to Caspian's friendly correspondences.

"I'm not," Addie finally says. "I'm telling him to stop - addressing it directly, like you suggested. But I need to know what he's said."

Opheodra lifts an eyebrow. "You could have asked me, as you did last month."

Addie nibbles her cheek. She didn't mean to snub Opheodra.

"I thought you were asleep," Addie lies. "I didn't want to disturb you."

Opheodra walks to the desk's opposite side, hand trailing over the chair's backrest, and says nothing.

The truth spills out.

"I needed to read it for myself," Addie says, winding her robe tie around her fingers. "And I knew how that'd look, so I…" She sighs. "I didn't want anyone to know."

The hawkish look in Opheodra's green eyes softens, suspicion giving way to a sympathetic half-smile.

"I would never judge you," Opheodra answers. "The king is known to be charming."

Addie's gaze strays back to the desk, where Caspian's letters beckon.

"He apologised," she murmurs. "He's just trying to smooth things over, nothing more."

A sudden thought pokes into her mind, a briar in a rosebush.

"Caspian isn't trying to dally, Opheodra; he all but said so. Why didn't you tell me?"

Slowly, Opheodra picks up Caspian's letters. In silence, she folds them neatly and places them in the box, closing it with a click.

"Addie, sweet, I understand why you would think his intentions innocent," she begins. "Most would."

"But they are!"

Opheodra's mouth presses into a thin, displeased line.

"Or he intends to lower your guard, to ply you with friendship and flattery before he makes his darker desires known."

Addie shakes her head. Caspian may have changed in four years, but she knows what he's not.

He's not manipulative, nor underhanded. How can Opheodra think Caspian anything but earnest? She's read his letters.

"He's not what the rumours say," Addie insists. "He's loyal to Lady Lilliandil, and he'd never take unwanted liberties from anyone."

Gossip may have spun her and Caspian's intimacies into a tale of a ravenous, salacious prince, but she knows better. She seduced him, not the other way around.

Opheodra drums her fingers on the box.

"You seem to know him well," Opheodra says, appraising. "Far better than I." She leans closer. "Is he the heartbreak you spoke of those moons ago?"

She practically admitted it already, didn't she? No point in denying it now.

Addie nods and leans against the desk, its edge digging into her bum.

Opheodra reaches past her and takes the candle.

"Perhaps I've misjudged him," she says. "Come, tell me everything."

Addie follows Opheodra through the manor's silent halls and into the sitting room. Opheodra kneels to start the fire, and Addie sinks onto the settee.

With a crack of flint, the fireplace roars to life, quicker than Addie's ever managed. Opheodra never flinches at the heat or the sudden bloom of smoke.

"Start at the beginning," she says, her melodic voice somehow devoid of judgement as she sits in her favoured armchair. "Tell me how you met."

That's easy enough.

The story spills from Addie's lips like she's spinning a tale for Josie, lilting and light-hearted the way she wishes she could be. She talks about life in the kitchen, until that fateful night when -

Opheodra stops her with a hand.

"Not like a fairy tale," Opheodra says. "Tell me how it felt. Surely such an unexpected intruder on your evening was startling?"

Addie blinks. It was, but looking back, she feels more fondness than indignation.

She tries again, easing out of a storyteller's rhythm and settling into herself, as strange as it feels. It was all so long ago.

Fourteen years, if she counts her time in England.

When she finishes, Opheodra hums.

"Not quite a smooth beginning, then."

"Not exactly," Addie agrees, a smile stealing over her mouth. "But looking back, he… he wasn't truly irritating."

What an understatement. If she could travel back in time and meet Mr Flowers again, she might call him…

Not quite charming. Endearing, if only because she never thought a noble - or royal - would be so human, nerves and all.

Then Mr Flowers became just Caspian.

Does he still have that embroidered nightshirt?

Likely not; battle tore and bloodied it beyond repair.

"Clearly not," Opheodra says, "if you let him take you to bed."

Addie ducks her head, her face heating.

"Actually, that sort of thing was usually my idea. Not always, but mostly."

"Oh?" Opheodra leans forward, elbow on her knee and chin in her palm.

Addie toes off her slippers and curls up on the settee, the throw pillow in her arms a welcome anchor. She hasn't talked about her and Caspian's bedroom activities in detail with anyone.

The fire crackles, and a charred log collapses on itself. A cloud of sweet smoke rolls from the fireplace, soothing and familiar.

Addie inhales, tasting lavender and an earthy musk in the back of her throat, and her shoulders soften.

Lola made up her mind about Caspian years ago; but Opheodra's willing to listen.

"You said the rumours call Caspian ravenous," Addie says. "He's not. Well, sometimes, if I baited him into it, but he was always…" She ignores a thorn of embarrassment. "He was tender."

Opheodra smiles softly. "He was in love. As were you."

Addie nods. "Exactly."

She'll say this for Caspian - none of her other beaus could hold a candle to him. Ted came the closest; he had everything but the spark of passion that so often flared between her and Caspian.

Flared, and ultimately burned them to ashes.

Addie breathes slow and deep, savouring the fire's rich scent.

The past is the past. She shouldn't dwell on it.

"Then you were the source of the rumours," says Opheodra, a finger stroking from her lips to her cheek, her eyebrows raised in realisation. Then she frowns, as if discovering her puzzle is missing a piece. "But hearsay spoke of at least one other."

Addie's throat tightens. "I think those were about Anna. She was a maid, like me."

Opheodra leans forward, her expression soft and concerned.

"Was?"

With her cheek pressed to the pillow, Addie explains Ana's disappearance, Marcos' lies, the shock of reality driving the first wedge between herself and Caspian.

"It wasn't right," Addie murmurs, hoarse. "None of it. Anna died because of us - Caspian and I. Marcos too, but I was the one who kept sneaking to see Caspian."

"So the king didn't despoil a pair of maids, who were then sent away to avoid a scandal, but you and Anna… I see." Opheodra lapses into silence as Addie nods.

A shower of sparks dance in the fireplace as another log collapses and a cloud of smoke rolls over the floor.

"That was the first time I ever regretted him," Addie blurts. The surprise of her confession snaps her mouth shut; she's never admitted that to anyone. It sounds so callous spoken aloud. "I was the one who kept seeking him out, and…"

She trails off, heaviness settling in her chest.

"And I got Anna killed because of it."

Opheodra looks thoughtful, strangely calm for such a revelation. "What did you understand of court politics, those years ago?"

Addie shrugs. She understood little and cared even less.

"Not much."

"Then how could you have foreseen any danger to your friend?"

"I should've -"

Opheodra stops her with a finger to her lips. "No, banish this misplaced guilt. It was not your hand that led your friend to the slaughter."

Marcos exchanged Anna's life for hers. There's plenty of guilt in that, because if she'd never entangled herself with Caspian, Anna would still be alive.

"Not intentionally," Addie says. "But I could've been more careful, or stopped seeing him, or just avoided him from the start."

Opheodra's expression darkens, the closest she's ever appeared to anger.

"Did the king warn you of the dangers? He knew them well, did he not?"

"I knew too," Addie says. "I was being selfish, and reckless, and… all I was thinking of was wanting him. When I was with him, I forgot everything else."

If only the settee cushions could swallow her, hide her from the simmering fierceness in Opheodra's gaze.

Addie steels herself and keeps herself from shrinking behind the pillow.

"I know better now," she concludes. "Really, I do."

Across the room, Opheodra's eyes sear. She looks a little like Perla trying to decide between a scolding and a gruff dismissal.

At length, Opheodra nods to herself and bids her continue.

"Go on," she says.

Addie obliges. She tells Opheodra about the escape, the war, the proposal that never was - everything but the specifics of England.

And Opheodra listens, no matter how much bitterness or foolishness or girlishness Addie admits to. Truly listens, her gaze unwavering, and smiles, frowns, and sighs at all the right moments.

"You're certain he intended to propose?" Opheodra says, a finger tracing her bottom lip.

Addie wipes her eyes. "As certain as I can be. I haven't exactly asked to confirm."

Opheodra taps her cheek. "Had he asked, would you have accepted?"

Her eyes fill again - traitors.

Addie squeezes them shut and speaks to the ghost of Caspian in her mind, his dark hair wild from dancing and his eyes sparkling with firelight as he spun her around, before she ruined everything.

There's only one answer, though it doesn't matter anymore.

"Yes," she whispers. "I probably would've said yes."

When she opens her eyes, Opheodra is staring into the fire.

Addie's mouth runs away with her.

"If I'd just told him a better way… or never said anything, we might be…"

She could be in his castle now, sleeping curled into Caspian's warmth every night.

They could have their own little Cesare, a boy with his father's midnight eyes.

"Would you?" Opheodra's piercing gaze returns. "From what you've told me, it was he who failed you that night. He didn't trust you."

"I hadn't exactly earned his trust," Addie argues, even as some wicked part of her sags in relief.

"Hadn't you?"

Addie hugs the pillow tighter. If Lola was here, she'd agree with Opheodra.

Opheodra continues. "Was it not he who sent you with the one who'd harmed you? Was it not he who put you to sleep with tea?"

"He didn't know everything," Addie says. "I hadn't told him. When I did, he was sorry and had Marcos arrested."

Opheodra purses her lips. "I find it difficult to believe the king did not suspect."

Addie shakes her head. Caspian did the best he could with the knowledge he had.

"It doesn't matter. It's done with, and he just wanted me safe."

"Very well." Opheodra crosses her legs and sits back in her armchair. "My purpose was this: it was your king's betrayal that was freshest. Not yours. He was most unkind to meet you with distrust in such a vulnerable moment. You just discovered your family was alive."

"Still, he -"

"I don't blame you, you know," Opheodra says, a sudden fire in her eyes - so like Lola's simmering anger whenever the subject of Caspian arises. "In your place, I too would have returned to my homeland."

Somehow, Opheodra's vindication hurts worse than a recrimination.

"I wasn't going to leave," Addie blurts. "I went to him to tell him it didn't matter, that he was all I needed."

Opheodra frowns. "You would never have known your mother."

"I wouldn't choose that now," Addie says. "But back then… I could live with not knowing."

"Then the king's rejection changed your mind?"

Addie hesitates. It wasn't just Caspian.

I think you want them, Lola said. Even if you don't admit it, I think you do.

That's why you left. You didn't want to until he snapped you like a twig.

But she didn't decide to go until the last moment, after Caspian told her to run and couldn't even look at her.

"In a way," Addie says, resisting the urge to hide her face. "He didn't want me - or didn't trust me, I guess - so I… I ran toward someone who maybe would."

"I see." Opheodra leans onto the chair's arm, a delicate finger tracing her lower lip. "And do you intend to return to his castle?"

Slowly, Addie shakes her head. Running back to Caspian now would only be begging for fresh heartbreak, and it'd be horribly unfair to Lilliandil.

"No," she says. "I couldn't… that wouldn't be fair to anyone."

"Very wise." Opheodra's features soften, her posture relaxing as the fire's reflection flickers green in her eyes. "Nothing good ever comes of reopening such deep wounds."

Addie rests her chin on the pillow and looks away.

"I know."

Opheodra arranges her robe to cover her slippered feet.

"The years have much changed him, have they not?"

Addie chuckles bitterly. Caspian is different, and yet so much the same. He stands taller, speaks firmer, carries himself with a king's authority. He grew a beard, got a tan, thickened his slim frame with broader muscles, and he discovered a love of the sea.

But he's still bookish, cautious, pensive, reserved, protective, weighed by his crown. Caspian is still earnest and polite, though his courtly manners have been polished by confidence.

Caspian's still… Caspian. When he lowers his guard enough to just be himself.

"Not enough," Addie says to the floor. "Not enough for me to…"

Not enough for me to never look back.

Opheodra's brow furrows in sympathy. "He is expected to marry the star. Some say he will ask her by Christmas."

He is? After months without a proposal?

Throat tight, Addie crushes the pillow to her chest.

That's what Caspian wanted to tell her. That's why he wants mutual absolution. He's tidying up his past before marching into his future.

He must be happy. Lilliandil must be, too.

And God help her, she hates them a little for it.

"Then again, the rumours swirled similarly in the summer." Opheodra shrugs and lifts her mandolin from beside her chair, settling it in her lap and inspecting it. "This gossip may pass without incident."

Engagement in the winter, wedding in spring or summer. That seems suitably Narnian.

It'll be a beautiful affair. The celebrations will stretch a week or more, the city bells will peal for joy. Rose petals will shower the streets by day and fireworks will boom by night.

Two thrones on the dais, a happy populace, a happy couple.

Royal children - heirs, that is.

Addie digs her nails into velvet and wills her thundering heart to quiet.

They'll be happy, Caspian and Lilliandil, and she will not get in the way. Even if she wanted to, even if she thought she could make him happy if she tried hard enough, she can't; Caspian's moved on, a truth she should've accepted the moment she set foot in his throne room.

Her Caspian is no more.

Amid her silence, Opheodra adjusts her mandolin's strings and plucks each one, breaking the quiet with low, sweet notes.

"No," Addie murmurs. "I think it's true this time."

Opheodra's fingers hover over her instrument, hesitating. Her gaze slides up, and Addie meets it unsteadily.

Opheodra tilts her head. "And yet you are still in love with him…"

She could try to deny it.

The words sour in Addie's throat, a lump she can't swallow.

"I don't want to be," Addie whispers instead.

"Mm."

Opheodra refocuses on her mandolin and strums the first string. The sound is more vibration than music, like an echo from a mountainside half a mile away. Opheodra nods to herself and tests the third string - a higher note that fills Addie's lungs like frosty morning air.

Addie closes her eyes as Opheodra continues meticulously tuning each string to her liking, filling the room with music.

Wait… music.

Addie straightens, the pillow falling to the floor as her eyes snap open. Opheodra strums the mandolin in a cascade of notes as rich as Perla's nut cakes.

Opheodra's music helps her remember Mum's diaries. Can it work the opposite way, too?

Music has a way of bringing memories. Or helping us forget. All one needs is the right song.

"Can you make it so I'm not?"

A/N: Oh dear, oh dear... what do we think Opheodra will say? 👀

Next chapter will be up next Sunday (so in 9 days).

Chapter 78 Preview:

"You once said the right song can bring memories. You also said a song can make you forget."

"The right song, with the right musician to play it, can do many things."