A/N: Surprise, the writing gods smiled upon me! And this chapter kindly kept itself a more reasonable size (cough cough 6k is normal now cough cough), so here we are. I hope y'all are ready for a lil action this chapter! šŸ˜ˆ (it gets a lil dark, but trust me here)

Chapter 84 Content Warnings: violence, death, light gore

Chapter 84: this hell you put me in

Addie

"A little more, Mossmire," Addie says. "A littleā€¦ yes, perfect."

That's one vial drained. Fortunately, she has two more.

Addie stirs the pastry filling and spoons it onto perfect squares of dough, leaving Mossmire to pinch the pasties closed.

Happy Christmas, Caspian.

She'd love to see his face when he realises what she's done. When it finally dawns on him that she will always escape him, and there is nothing he can do to stop her.

Alas, she'll be long away by then.

Addie mixes the next batch of Christmas treats - shortbreads, in honour of Josie. She'll see her soon and greet England's Christmas with cinnamon rolls, black tea with lavender and honey, and Josie's favourite shortbreads.

It took a week of experimentation to find the perfect recipe. She'd like to think Josie would be proud.

More importantly, when she returns to Ettinsmoor triumphant, Opheodra will be proud.

Addie empties the next vial into her bowl and sips her own, careful to keep hers separate from the others.

She's so close.

Twelve hours, and thenā€¦

Freedom.

Caspian

Despite Caspian's hopes for a clear answer to his troubles, the mouse he assigned to follow Addie reports nothing amiss. She saw a healer in the city this morning for a tonic to help her sleep, visited the maid Lola's family, and spent all afternoon cooking holiday confections at Lady Opheodra's house.

Caspian thanks the mouse, sends him back to keep watch, and resolves to put the problem of Addie from his mind. Lady Opheodra's explanation will arrive in the coming days, his guards will escort Addie north, and that will be that.

He once hoped things would be different. But as ever, hope has betrayed him.

Caspian dresses himself in his Christmas finery and holds his head high. He is king, and kings must appear in good spirits for holidays.

His people are happy. That is enough.

The feast is a resounding success; Narnians and humans empty many a platter and goblet, and the ball that follows is as well-attended as his coronation. This ball has mostly Narnian music, Christmas tunes passed through the centuries and tweaked to match the quirks of modern instruments. An occasional Telmarine-inspired tune fills the ballroom, rich with lauds, tabors, and castanets - a show of unity, of integration.

He prefers the Narnian songs.

Caspian briefly mingles among the revelry, applying smiles and cordial conversation when warranted, before retreating to his seat of honour with a goblet of wine for company.

Lilliandil is here, passing from one dance or pleasant conversation to the next, perfectly at ease no matter her partner. She trades cheer with tipsy fauns and taciturn centaurs, boisterous minotaurs and stoic satyrs, stumbling youths and poised nobles as if she was born to do it. She even gracefully extricates herself from the attentions of the Seven Isles' very inebriated ambassador without causing the slightest offence.

He breathes slowly and looks away. Neither of them would have been content.

Caspian drains his goblet and welcomes the creeping rush of alcohol. He knows his limits, but it's a holiday. Most are not quite sober.

Lilliandil approaches him when the chandeliers are the only light. Outside, snow swirls like tiny fairies, carried on the wings of winter. The ballroom's windows are cracked open to allow a cool breeze, preventing the room from growing stifling.

"Happy Christmas," Lilliandil greets with a curtsy.

Caspian nods and wishes her the same.

"Sir Ornus noted you have not danced yet," she murmurs. "You might consider partaking sometime this evening."

Such words would be better suited from Cornelius' mouth, though part of him longs for a conspiratorial jest. But that is not Lilliandil's way.

"Would you be offended if I asked you?"

He knows from experience Lilliandil is a wonderful dancer, graceful and light-footed, and he enjoys her smiles.

"I would not be offended," the star says haltingly, so taken aback he regrets suggesting it. "But perhaps Lady Prille would be a better choice." Lilliandil leans closer, whispering. "She is in want of a partner. She's a shy, sweet girl; the king's attention would be a kindness."

Caspian follows Lilliandil's glance to a slender maiden with angular cheeks, an addlepated blink, and the nervous, fluttering energy of a caged bird.

She looks like he once felt as a prince - adrift, unsure, in desperate need of a kind face.

Caspian asks the girl to dance and waves off her stuttering acceptance and her mother's hawk-eyed approval. Her father, she admits, is presently occupied at the wine table, and exceedingly content to be so.

It is a pleasant dance. Lady Prille is an amiable partner, if not the most graceful of dancers. But then, neither is he.

Caspian asks about her family and her favourite holiday traditions, and his heart lightens at her answers. Apparently, old badger travels the nearby towns and villages the week of Christmas telling the story of how Father Christmas came to be. Lady Prille still sneaks out of her father's manor to hear it, especially as it changes slightly each year. Apparently, her father's loyalties lie more with the Telmarines; in her words, he doesn't yet trust the ways of Narnia, though she hopes he'll come around someday.

Whether he does or he doesn't, the important thing is ensuring his prejudice does not harm others. Caspian reminds himself to investigate the politics of the area.

At the dance's end, he escorts Lady Prille back to her mother with his compliments. A young lord asks her to dance the very next song.

"You have an attentive eye," he tells Lilliandil when he returns to her, just after she graciously declines a dance from Archenland's ambassador.

"I find there is joy aplenty in facilitating others' matches," Lilliandil says. "Even if I've not yet found my own."

"You will," Caspian says. He's more certain of that than the sun's next rising. Lilliandil is too good, too pure, too generous of heart to find anything but happiness.

"Perhaps."

He recognises that note of sadness in her tone. He despises it.

Caspian changes the subject, because he does not have any immediate matches in mind to set her toward.

"What are your plans after Christmas?"

Lilliandil sips from her goblet, dimming.

"I believe I ought to return home," she murmurs. "To ascend to my place among my people."

Home? When she's not found her match, when her explorations are tempered by a bruised heart? How can she leave when she has so much of Narnia and its surrounding territories to explore?

He can't keep Lilliandil here, butā€¦ but he is fond of her, and must everyone he thinks well of leave him?

"If your plans are in any way influenced by our end, please reconsider." What shame he has left heats his ears, but Caspian refills his goblet and presses on. "If there is more you would see if Narnia, of our neighbouring lands, I urge you to stay and satiate your curiosity. I will, as ever, facilitate as you wish."

Belatedly, he remembers Doctor Cornelius urging him to be sure Lilliandil was certain of her welcome.

"Or stay here, if the castle pleases you," Caspian adds quickly. "I would be glad to be your host, even from a distance. You may find the Galman ambassador to your liking."

Lilliandil brightens slightly, yet uncertainty pinches her brow.

"You are very kind," she says. "I appreciate your graciousness, butā€¦"

"But?"

She looks away, dimming. "I wanted to see you were well, but I feel distance is the best solace for me. Especially without any positive news from you and Adelaine."

Well, there is certainly no hope for that.

At his frown, Lilliandil continues. "I stepped aside for both your sakes, not just my own. I hoped if I could not share my life with you, you would find your happiness with her. But that was not to be, and I will speak no more on it. I only hope you will find happiness someday, and that Aslan speeds you along its path."

Caspian summons a smile, though it tastes bitter. "In this moment, it is your happiness I hope for, my lady."

Lilliandil does not meet his gaze. "I fear my happiness lies in the land of my people."

In the sky, where he will not meet her again.

"There is no greater distance than between the sky and earth," Lilliandil continues gently. "Even the distance between stars is considerable."

He understands, Lion knows he does, but to flee from the world she crossed an ocean to see, to retreat after mere months on earthā€¦

How can she be happy with that?

"The sky is home," Lilliandil says when he asks. "I will be content."

Why must Lilliandil return there, where he may never see her again? Where he will never know if she's found the happiness he couldn't give her?

"You deserved more," Caspian blurts, and then stops himself, blaming his unfiltered declaration on spiced wine.

Yet he doesn't regret a word. If anyone deserves a sweeping, fairy tale love heralded in storybooks, it's Lilliandil.

Their conversation lulls, and the hustle and roar of the joyous attendees surrounds them. Hundreds of people, talking animals and humans and most every type of creature in Narnia, all dancing, singing, drinking, chattering, and generally enjoying themselves. His subjects, free to celebrate and bid their worries goodbye for an evening.

"Do you miss the sea?" he asks suddenly.

Lilliandil blinks at him. "Iā€¦ I suppose I do, yes. The sea's song reminds me of my father's island."

"Then take the Dawn Treader," Caspian says. The moment he speaks, something clicks into place, a sense of rightness that warms him like summer sunlight despite the Christmas snow dancing outside. "Set out in the spring. Captain Drinian will see you wherever you wish to go."

"Is she not your navy's flagship?" Lilliandil sips from her goblet, but her voice and light are bright with hope.

"She's a bit small," Caspian admits. The Dawn Treader will always hold a place in his heart, but from a military perspective, they built her more for adventuring than leading a navy. "In a few months, the Marshwiggles will complete a more imposing flagship. Truly, take the Treader if it pleases you."

Lilliandil ponders a moment as the ball whirls on, a Narnian reel urging Father Christmas to hurry piping in the background.

"I think that would please me, yes," she finally says.

Then it's settled; Caspian promises to arrange it. He'll miss her, but sending Lilliandil on a longer tour of the kingdom and its various territories is far preferable to never seeing her again.

"What of Galma?" he says. "If I recall correctly, you found Lady Larissa quite -"

"Sire!"

Caspian spins around seeking the speaker before recognising the voice - Cheepiteek, the spy he assigned to Addie. The mouse hops onto a nearby table, panting and fur dishevelled.

"Forgive my interruption," he gasps. "There's a fire in your old quarters. Guards and servants are fighting -"

The pleasant buzz of wine cracks in two.

"Where is Adelaine?" Caspian demands. Cheeptieek was assigned to tail her, yet the mouse is here, with news of a fireā€¦

Cheepiteek looks a little abashed. "I lost her, Sire. I followed her to your former quarters, and shortly after she left, I smelt smoke and ran to get help."

Caspian nearly reprimands the mouse for not pursuing, but common sense stills his tongue. An uncontrolled fire when the castle is full to bursting would be disastrous.

Still breathing heavily, Cheepiteek senses his ire. "Sire, forgive me, but if the fire spreads -"

"You did the right thing, Cheep." Caspian centres himself and shakes off the last flush of Christmas wine. "But you must find her now. Discreetly, and with guards. She must answer for this."

The mouse bows. "At once, Your Majesty."

Cheepiteek scampers away, and the party fiddles on.

Caspian whirls to Lilliandil.

"Stay here, be merry, and make up for my absence. I must see to this fire, and Adelaine."

Lilliandil is already nodding. "Be safe, Caspian."

Addie

Addie pairs her servant dress with her best smile as she makes her way to the dungeon, in case the guards need coaxing to accept her platter of Christmas treats.

Something inside her wrenched as the fire slithered its way across the room like a swarm of serpents, and she almost finished Opheodra's tonic trying to reclaim her sense of vicious satisfaction. After all, who else would dare to do what she just did?

It was a worthy distraction - got Caspian's spy off her tail, cleared several halls of guards and servants, and it'll keep them busy for at least an hour. A timely hiding spot, a crumb of patience, and years of practice sneaking around this very castle have led her here, with the comforting numbness of Opheodra's magic in her belly and the rings that are hers by right so very close.

She shouldn't dawdle, but she savours the feeling as she carefully descends the steps to the dungeon - and the vault.

Damn Caspian for arresting Hallgrim. It poses a complication they can ill afford; without Hallgrim, if Caspian locks down the city, she's trapped. She needs the northman - her sword.

Fortunately, the royal vault is close enough she won't waste too much time retrieving him.

Addie shivers, wishing for the fur-lined cloak Opheodra gave her. The castle's warmth is a distant memory this far down. Here, it is cold, damp, and musty, and her breath fogs in the sparse torchlight.

Two guards - Telmarine - stop her on the bottom steps.

"Halt!"

"Miss, you're lost. Party's upstairs," grouses the other.

The short guard, with a button nose and a sharp chin, hushes him, eying the tray of food. Addie lifts it so the scents will reach them better. Lamb and beef pasties, Christmas cake, trifles, spiced nuts, shortbreads, almond biscuitsā€¦ she brought enough Narnian and Telmarine treats to tempt even the most stubborn stomachs.

"That for us?"

Addie beams innocently. "Indeed it is. The guards enjoying the festivities upstairs mentioned you were all down here, so I thought I'd bring a bit of the feast to you."

The taller guard doesn't bother thanking her, immediately grabbing a slice of Christmas cake and stuffing it in his mouth, grunting in belated appreciation as he sprays crumbs. With a good-natured eye-roll at his companion, the other guard grins and takes two pasties. By the time he's thanked her, the tall one's taken a shortbread and a fist of nuts.

The poison works quickly.

The ruder one chews slower, his brow creasing, then begins to droop. The short one frowns as his companion slips to his knees and sprawls onto his side with a clatter, but he's not far behind. With a cough, he too topples to the cold floor.

Addie steps over them and continues down the cramped, dingy corridor. The dungeon itself should only have a guard or two, and the next shift change isn't for another two hours. With most of the castle guards busy fighting the fire, her path of escape should be clear.

Still, best not dally.

The next left will take her to the dungeons, and continuing straight will lead her to the vault. The next pair of dungeon guards are close; dealing with them now is a tiny detour that'll save time later.

Thankfully, the dungeon guards aren't on rounds. They're sitting at a cramped table near the entrance, playing cards and huddled close to a sputtering brazier.

"I thought I smelled food!" One grins at her from underneath his askew helm.

"Careful, he'll bite your hand if you get too close," says the second one as he lays out a winning hand, if his triumphant grin isn't a bluff.

The first turns back and meets his defeat with dismay, laying his cards face-up with a sigh.

"Take these as consolation, sir," Addie says, extending the tray, pleased when the soldier takes three shortbreads. Turning to the other, she smiles. "And a victory celebration for you."

The victor takes a pastie and an almond biscuit and inhales deeply. "Smells fancy. Many thanks, miss."

She wishes them a happy Christmas and leaves. Much as she enjoys seeing her handiwork crumple men strong enough to snap her neck, there's no time to waste.

Addie briskly marches toward the vault, careful not to disturb the tray. The guards haven't entirely ruined her artistic arrangement, despite their best efforts.

The two guards stationed at the vault are also Telmarine, thankfully. Addie dons a servant's kind, shy smile and approaches down the long, solitary hallway, the tray presented before her. She made the treats potent enough to take out a minotaur if it ate enough, but larger body mass lowers its efficacy. Humans, however, are perfect.

"Good evening, gentlemen!" she calls out before they speak. "I come bearing Christmas cheer, if you'd like it."

One, a grizzled man with weathered skin, perks up instantly, but the other, a beardless youth with his chest puffed in self-importance, scoffs.

"Thank you kindly, but no, madame."

"Come off it, Govlas," the older one grumbles. "Look at her, the girl's harmless. And very thoughtful."

Addie offers the friendly one the tray, pleased when he takes two biscuits, a pastie, and a slice of dark cake.

"I've seen you before," says Govlas, peering into her face rather rudely. "Fetching archive boxes."

"The Lord Chancellor keeps me busy." Addie keeps her eyes down in deference. "But my family works in the kitchen. I join them when my other duties allow." She leans closer, glad for the heat her nerves bring to her cheeks. "So I know how good these are. It is a holiday, after all."

Govlas' frown wavers, softens. Meanwhile, his companion has polished off the cake and two biscuits, sucking crumbs from his fingers with a groan.

"For Tash's sake, man, have one! No rule against eating on duty."

Govlas relents and takes some cake.

The strongest one.

Addie accepts their thanks and leaves them to enjoy their snacks. She's not halfway down the hall when she hears them drop.

She checks to ensure the hall is clear before hurrying back, leaving the tray on Govlas' back. He fell face-first, as if he tried to come after her.

Addie pulls the key from her bodice and unlocks the vault with a heavy, satisfying click. The doors groan open.

Here lies the wealth of a kingdom in chests longer than she is tall, filled with gold coins and trinkets, gilded crowns and jewelled weapons, crystal goblets and ceremonial robes, ancient tapestries and gilded tomes of the Golden Age probably preserved by Doctor Cornelius. Even two treasures of the Kings and Queens of Old are here, kept in glass cases against the wall - Queen Susan's bow and arrows, and Queen Lucy's cordial.

First, the rings.

Addie finds the small wooden lockbox where Cornelius put the rings in a far chest, hidden behind a mound of coins. She has that key, too, nabbed when she took the key to Caspian's princely rooms. Inside lay the two small velvet bags, green and gold, with two rings inside the drawstring pouch of corresponding colour.

She should've lied to keep these close, all those months ago. It would've saved her so much trouble.

But she never would have befriended Lady Opheodra if she had.

Addie tucks the pouches into her skirt pocket, takes the fireflower cordial, and grabs a dagger with an emerald-studded hilt on the way out, just in case. Then she locks the vault behind her and tucks the key back under her breast, where it won't ting against the cordial.

She will never let anyone trap her ever again. Even if the rest of her plan goes awry, instant escape lies inside her pocket. She'd come back for Opheodra, of course, when the danger passed.

Her stomach lurches, twisting painfully at the thought.

She needn't rush into using the rings. First, she has to get out of this cursed castle and back to Opheodra's magnanimous arms. Then the Lady will help her navigate the Wood Between Worlds.

To escape, she needs Hallgrim.

Addie leaves her platter in the vault, where it won't be discovered until she's long gone, and continues to the dungeon. The guards lie slumped over the table, motionless. She plucks a keyring from one's belt and creeps down the dungeon's dark corridor, wrinkling her nose against the stink of piss-wet hay and unwashed bodies. Half the cells are occupied, their prisoners all asleep, huddled on threadbare cots and clutching worn blankets. For all Caspian's supposed benevolence, the prisoners down here don't look well kept. Alive, suitably fed, but pale and dirty.

At the row's end, she reaches Hallgrim, sitting on a cot like a man at the ready. Yet when she unlocks his cell, his eyebrows lift like he's impressed.

"I know the way," Addie says. "Come with me."

Hallgrim ducks to leave the cell. In this cramped corridor, his height feels suffocating, but secure. She's just glad he's on her side.

"Got everything?"

Addie touches her pocket. "Yes."

They leave at a jog, not bothering with stealth after she tells him the guards are taken care of. He looks impressed again when she explains how.

She hopes Opheodra will be, too.

They stop to fetch Hallgrim's armour and weapons from the closet behind the guards' table. As the northman straps on his effects, a voice she hasn't heard in five years - fourteen, including her life in England - breaks the quiet.

"While you're freeing prisoners, how about a favour for an old friend?"

Addie stiffens, a chill of irrational fear washing down her spine.

Marcos is leaning against the bars of his cell, smirking like they're in the castle courtyard and he's saved a scandalous joke for her. She barely recognises him beneath the matted hair and patchy, unkempt beard.

She's passed within sight of his cell half a dozen times, and he's never spoken to her. But that was when there were guards.

He's in a cell. He's not a threat.

And yet she shivers.

"Why would I bother with you?" she says, as frigid as Ettinsmoor's frozen mountains.

"Don't be a brat." Marcos' expression sharpens, and she half-expects him to lunge at her. "It's your fault I'm in here, so come and let me out. It's only fair."

Behind her, Hallgrim rustles in the closet.

Addie leans against the wall and appraises Marcos like watercress at market. "You're not doing a good job convincing me."

Marcos sneers. "I could yell for the guards. Would that convince you?"

Addie tilts her head, daring him.

His hoarse yell surprises her.

"Guards! Guards, to arms! Prisoner escape!"

"Milady!" Hallgrim bursts out of the closet, fully armoured and sword drawn. "We leave, now!"

"Just a moment." A feline grin curls her lips, the sweet satisfaction of knowing Marcos' threat will lead nowhere. Prison hasn't been kind to him - his patchy beard is scraggly, his shoulder-length hair tangled and stuck with straw, his clothes threadbare and thin over a slimmer frame than she remembers.

Hallgrim grabs her arm and shakes hard enough her teeth snap together. "More could be bearing down on us already. Come."

Unlikely; everyone should be busy with the fire. She set it in several places throughout Caspian's old rooms - the bed, the window seat, the bookshelves. They'll be fighting the flames for an hour at least.

Marcos continues shouting, his face red, and Hallgrim moves.

She doesn't quite know what happens after that.

She feels herself leap ahead of Hallgrim, and Marcos' rancid breath puffs in her face as he reaches for the keys. Her mouth tastes strange, like earth and incense and leaves and vanilla-nut-herb aftertaste, her tongue sticky like cotton behind bared teeth, and then -

A wet thump.

A squelch, something sliding free.

A warm gush over her hand.

A gurgle.

When her vision clears again, her hand is red with blood, and the jewelled dagger clatters to the floor.

Hallgrim pulls her away, the strength of his grasp her only anchor.

"Didn't know you had that in you," he says. "Come on."

Addie leads him through the castle's darkest halls in a daze, their avoidance of guards narrowing the closer they get to freedom. One or two come too close, and Hallgrim proves his usefulness while she tries not to look. Her chest aches with every step, her stomach lurching, a tangle snagging when she tries to breathe. Opheodra's tonic must be wearing off - the numbness she cherishes is wavering, bleeding away like -

Addie uncorks the tonic and finishes it in a single gulp, greedy for every drop.

And then it's all okay.

Caspian

The fire is stubborn; he works shoulder-to-shoulder with guards wielding thick blankets and servants ferrying buckets of water to douse it for the better part of an hour. By the Lion's grace, they keep it from spreading beyond his old chambers. His childhood bed is a pile of charred timber and ashes, his old desk is smouldering stumps, the bookshelves and their contents (which he cared little for anyway) are gone, and there is nothing left of Addie's window seat but smoke-blackened window panes, but that is the damage is confined to his rooms.

Caspian thanks the soldiers and servants for their tireless work and excuses himself to clean up. The partygoers needn't know about the fire; there is no danger now, and he would not taint their holiday.

Even if Addie saw fit to ruin his.

Lion's Mane, he never thought her spite would go this far. To burn the rooms he grew up in, the place where they onceā€¦

How could she start a fire here, in his castle, when it's filled to the brim with Christmas revellers, risking all their lives for the sake of hurting him? How dare she endanger hundreds of his people just to gleefully hold a torch to his heart!

He underestimated her. He did not see the depth of her hatred.

Caspian rubs his forehead, grimacing against a headache wrought of wine, exhaustion, and intermittent coughing fits, trying to expel the acrid burn of smoke in his lungs. Whatever happened to Addie turned her cruel in a way he never could've anticipated.

What in the seven hells is wrong with her?

"My king!"

Doctor Cornelius is jogging to meet him, red-faced and kneading his side.

"News from the north," the half-dwarf pants as Caspian rushes to steady him. "One of our spiesā€¦Fleetfeather's returned. He brings news of - dear Lion," Cornelius cuts himself off and coughs.

"What news?" Caspian asks, sharp with urgency. "Speak, we've little time already."

Doctor Cornelius gathers himself and grips Caspian's shoulder, his spectacles askew and eyes wide in a way Caspian hasn't seen since his princely days. "Fleetfeather was shot down near Castle Harfang. He was tracking a group of humanfolk crossing the Wild Lands."

"Where is he now?" Caspian demands. "Is he alright?"

"He's with a healer. But Caspianā€¦" Doctor Cornelius takes both his arms, grip bracing as if to stop Caspian from racing off into something foolish. "Lady Opheodra led the group, from the City Ruinous to Harfang. Fifteen entered that castle, and only three emerged."

Lady Opheodra is in league with the Giants? The same who waged a territorial war against her people? That can't have been a diplomatic trip; all would have emerged. Unlessā€¦

Unless the twelve humans were a peace offering - payment for the Giants keeping to their own lands, and perhaps even for stopping the more brutish Ettinsmoor Giants from intruding on the moors? Is that how Ettinsmoor enjoyed three years of peace until the werewolves came prowling?

No, he would've heard about missing persons from Ettinsmoor, even if Opheodra tried to hide it.

"Fleetwing described a northman and a young woman with Lady Opheodra," the Doctor continues. "The young womanā€¦ it sounded very much like Adelaine."

I think something happened to her in Ettinsmoor.

Dawning horror creeps into his mouth like soured wine.

"Are you certain?" Caspian hears himself through a fog, like when his uncle smashed a shield into his head.

"I did not want to be," says Cornelius. "It makes so little sense. She wishes to return home - how could Lady Opheodra help her do that?"

"I'm unsure, but this very night, Adelaine set fire to my old quarters. Perhaps this is not so far beyond her," Caspian says grimly.

"There's more. I checked my office for anything amiss, given her previous aims, andā€¦"

Caspian itches with the need to chase her down and shake answers from her himself.

"What did you find?" he urges.

"It's what I didn't find. Two keys were missing - the key to your old chambers, and the lockbox key where I secured the rings."

The rings.

Of course this is about the rings.

And Addie was in his study just yesterday.

"Catch your breath, professor." Caspian flags down a servant down the corridor. "Ho there! Whatever your errand, abandon it and see to the Lord Chancellor. And send for water!"

"At once, Sire! Silla, water!" she calls to a nearby maid.

"I'll be alright, my boy. Go!"

Caspian sprints for his study, skidding around a bend and narrowly dodging a patrol who calls startled greetings he drowns out shouting for them to make for the castle vault with all haste. His office door almost shatters as he throws it open, pulse thundering in his throat, but he already knows what he'll find.

The false-bottom drawer opens, and the empty spot where the vault's iron key should be stares back.

"Lock down the castle and the city! No one leaves!"

"Right away!" The Captain of the Guard runs to execute the order, leaving four of his lieutenants at Caspian's disposal.

Caspian straps on his sword as he approaches the dungeons, armour abandoned in his rush. "Vastus, take your men and sweep the lower levels. Gragar, close the portcullis and scour the courtyard. Thundertail, take the east wing, Malvus, the west. Damrus, keep the guests in the ballroom, but do not disturb the party unless you must. And send for the royal locksmith! Arrus, Eneko, with me."

The lieutenants scatter, hooves and boots echoing down the halls, and Caspian runs down the stairs to the lower levels, sending prayer after prayer that he's not too late.

The fire was a distraction, he can see that now. Just like Addie's sudden attempts at seduction.

He should have suspected.

Addie never gives up.

He almost trips over the guards at the bottom of the stairs.

Cloven hooves clattering on the stone floor, Arrus bends down and checks the nearest one's pulse.

"Alive," he says. "Breathing shallow, pulse slow. Likely poisoned."

Not dead, then, but perhaps soon to be so.

Bile rises in his throat.

He did not think Addie capable of this.

"Arrus, fetch healers," Caspian says. "Eneko, with me."

The lower level is a flurry of soldiers, swords drawn and crossbows cocked as they search every shadow and crevice with sputtering torches. Some wobble on their feet or hooves, tipsy from earlier celebrations. A frazzled faun trots up as Caspian passes the dungeon.

"Sire, we found an injured witness!"

"Show me," he says. "Quickly."

The faun doubles back toward the dungeons and Caspian spins on his heel to follow.

The dungeon guards have also been poisoned, but it is the sight of Marcos lying in a dark red pool that floods his stomach with dread.

He once wanted this man dead.

"Send for a healer immediately," Caspian says. "What has he said?"

Inside his open cell, Marcos groans unintelligibly.

Alive, but he won't be for long. No healer can mend that wound; they can only ease the pain enough that Marcos might speak sense before his passing.

"I have, Sire. He's said nothing we can make out."

Caspian lingers a moment outside the cell, but the thick-tongued ramblings of a dying man are little help.

"Saveā€¦ prisā€¦ escaā€¦ Adā€¦"

Save me, prisoner escape, Addie.

"The northman escaped?" Caspian deduces. The faun confirms as much, says his cell was left open, no signs of a struggle.

How touching - Addie came for her lover.

Was it he who stabbed Marcos?

If it was, why would he abandon the murder weapon, a bejewelled dagger worth a year's salary or more?

So Addie went to the vault first, then came to the dungeon to kill another piece of her past and free her lover.

"Your Majesty!"

Another soldier runs into sight, stubbled cheeks red with exertion. "The vault guards are down, but the vault appears to be sealed."

Caspian curses. Without the key, he can't check, but instinct and the dagger stained with Marcos' blood tell him Addie indeed breached the vault.

"Where in the Lion's name is that locksmith?" he bellows. "Eneko, find him!"

The locksmith takes far too long to crack the vault. For a door with a single key, the locking mechanism is apparently so complex even the kingdom's finest can't force it open with any haste.

As Caspian waits, pacing, reports trickle in.

"We're sweeping the city, My Liege, but there's no sign of them."

"The bridge guards are dead, Sire."

"Two more found dead. Yes, the city's gate guards."

Caspian gnashes his teeth, rage roiling in every muscle and begging for battle.

"Send the falcons!" he roars. "Send the dogs, send every fleet-footed creature after them!" The moment this vault is open and he sees if his suspicions are true, he will join the chase.

Even you had trouble keeping hold of me.

He refuses to consider that Addie may be worlds away already, far beyond the reach of justice. To think she wrought such chaos and death right under his nose! In his own castle!

Why have you returned?

To enjoy the holiday. Weigh my options.

He remembers the candle Addie abandoned in his study after her seduction attempt failed and curses himself all over again.

What are these?

Letters of resignation. It's time I settled elsewhere.

Give me the rings. Let me go home.

Addie's planned her betrayal since the moment she returned to the castle. How she must have laughed when her distractions led him astray!

I escaped you. That's what you can't stand.

After all she's done, Addie will never escape him again - he will not let her. She will face judgement for this, her and her lover both, with all the righteous fury of his crown. By her actions tonight, Addie has ensured that when he tracks her down, she will never again have the freedom she so desperately craves.

When at last the locksmith cracks open the vault, Caspian charges inside already certain of what he'll find.

Cornelius' lockbox lies open, the key in the lock, atop a closed chest.

The rings are gone.

Caspian orders no one to touch the platter of picked-over food sitting beside the box, save Rainroot. If anyone can discover the antidote in time to save the guards, it's her. A less experienced healer said the men are only sleeping, but she couldn't wake them.

Caspian abandons all hope of keeping the spoiled evening from reaching his guests upstairs; he sends for Glenstorm and rallies as swift a strike force as can be roused. Thanks to the holiday, some of his best fighters are still marinated in their drinks.

Lion damn her!

Before leaving, Caspian goes to fetch Queen Lucy's cordial, because he swore to Doctor Cornelius to never travel without it, and it is then that he discovers the full scale of Addie's treachery.

Queen Lucy's cordial is gone.

A/N: Well, that's a bit of a problem, isn't it? šŸ˜… Hang in there y'all, 4 chapters til Heartworm's done! And then the fun we've all been waiting a VERY long time for begins šŸ˜ˆ

Chapter 85 is going up sometime in the next 2-3 weeks. As always, progress updates are on my insta.

Chapter 85 Preview:

"Her Ladyship is presently travelling," says the northman. "If it pleases you, she -"

Caspian shoves past the soldier and throws open the doors to the manor, sending servants scattering to the walls.

"Where is she?"