The memories overcame him so strongly, he could almost smell her, taste her still. He could picture how the firelight had played on her warm skin. Caspian turned to the very spot she had been, her body curled against his, looking up at him with her bright green eyes. She had seemed every bit as contented as he was, more than contented, euphoric. What had changed?
Caspian stepped deeper into the memory, suddenly desperate to know. What was the last thing she had said to him? How had he let her go again? All he could conjure was her voice and the utter finality it carried …I’m not coming back. I’ll always love you, but I have to go. It’s for the best.
A knock sounded on the door, pulling him from his thoughts into harsh reality. The heaviness in his body seemed to press him down further into the bed. It wasn’t until the second intrusion that Caspian straightened, tucking the holly hastily into his pocket and out of sight.
“Come in,” he said, even though he immediately regretted it.
Any air of peace dissipated as Lionel entered, accompanied by three servants with trays of food and two more dragging in the large bathtub. He picked at his food as the tub was filled with steaming water. He washed alone, though only briefly. Only moments after he’d gotten settled, his steward had knocked to inform him that the tailor had arrived.
The moment he was dried and dressed, she had come flitting in. Lionel followed, listing off preparations as the tailor and her apprentice took measurements of every seam of the garments. Any pause in his litany was filled by her complaints about the last minute alterations. Of course, she was careful to reassure him that she didn’t blame him for being too busy to meet with her until hours before the wedding, though she clearly did.
“That said, I will take my leave,” Lionel said.
Caspian looked over his shoulder. He hadn’t been listening at all. His bewilderment must have been clear on his features as Lionel cleared his throat.
“To oversee the final preparations in the chapel, my lord.”
Caspian nodded.
“Unless there is something else you require of me here?”
“No, thank you, Lionel.”
“Very well then. Before I depart, may I say that you are looking quite dignified today, sir.”
Caspian stiffened slightly. He had been expressly avoiding catching sight of himself in the full length mirror.
“Is there anything else, Lionel?”
“No, sir,” the steward answered, sobering as he caught on to his obviously ill mood.
Caspian was just about to offer an apology for his sharp remark when the apprentice accidentally stuck him with a pin. He winced, recoiling on reflex.
The poor girl apologized profusely, looking utterly mortified. The tailor began alternating between scolding her and offering promises to right the matter.
“I need a moment,” Caspian snapped at last.
The room cleared without another word spoken as Lionel ushered the pair out. Once the door shut, Caspian collapsed into a chair, not caring if he was creasing the pants or wrinkling the doublet. He breathed heavily, head held in his hands.
This was unlike him, the irritability, losing his temper. He was behaving no better than a wounded animal, biting anyone who came too close. Yet more than the guilt that was undoubtedly gnawing at him, was the sense of defeat. This was supposed to be helping him heal. Moving on was supposed to help. At first he’d thought of the constant struggle as a necessary pain, like resetting a bone, but no. He’d felt only like he was breaking himself into some bitter new shape, one day at a time.
Caspian turned to the heap of clothes on the floor, fishing out the sprig of holly. It was brittle and crumpled. So fragile in his fingers. Caspian sighed as he held it, his gaze landing on the mirror he’d been so careful to ignore. The sight was sobering. His steward was right; he did look the part of a lord. The fine silver stitching accentuated the stark white of his hair. The deep blues somehow made him seem taller, more dignified, regal even. He had been transforming into this person for so long, how could he see such a stranger before him now?
Perhaps because he was about to take the final step.
Caspian sighed, looking away. Was this the reason she left? After all his efforts to make her feel accepted here, comfortable, had it not been enough? If that were the case, would he give it all up if it meant a life with her? She’d never ask him to, never want him to. Keira understood what this place had come to mean to him, how much he believed in the work he was doing. Perhaps she had left rather than force him to choose. Maybe she had looked at the rigors of court life and decided that it wasn’t worth it just to hang on to a long lost love. There was no denying he had fallen in love with her, the new woman she had become. Could he have projected those feelings onto her?
The holly fractured in his palm. Caspian inspected it breathlessly. He hadn’t meant to grip it so hard, but it was wholly ruined now.
Why? He wanted to scream at the mangled plant. The question that was driving him further into madness the more he considered it. Why had she gone? Why had he let her go without a fight?
“Caspian?” Her voice was so soft it was nearly a whisper, but still it startled him to his feet.
Priscilla was clearly in the midst of her own preparations. Her hair fell in gilded ringlet curls over her shoulders. Her dress was simple, clearly meant to be changed out of later.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, decorum forgotten.
“I wanted to- to see you before we ll-left for the chapel,” she explained. “And I- I heard you were troubled.”
