Sain Clare Academy (gxg, 18+)

Chapter Forty-five

I'd never believed in the goodness of man, not after leaving home for two years on the whim of my backpack and parents' wishes. Not when I wrote back to them, documenting every horror I'd submitted myself to see; a woman-- barely that-- bruised and battered, tied to a wall and ravaged, and I, too late to renew her breath. The young child she left behind, sold and exploited, found a year later discarded on the horse-shit by the road.

I'd never wished so badly to be wrong in my life, and I prayed to the Goddess for the first time since I was a child and didn't know what faith was.

I'd never wished so badly to be wrong in my life as I watched my father smile at me, over the crowds, head propped between the wood and blade that would end his life like it had ended mother's.

"There is strength in mercy, my daughter," he'd called to me, lips forming the words slowly, "----"

And then, the metal fell, and I felt the hot life of his blood splatter over my face and lips.

I gasped awake, clutching my throbbing head. A cool hand touched the back of my neck, rubbing softly, as I panted.

"Let me see," Grace called, softly, and I kept my eyes shut as I removed my hands, turning toward the sound of her voice.

I was on a bed, but from the lack of dip on any side of it I figured she was sitting beside me somewhere.

A cold, wet cloth touched my forehead, slowly, wiping the sweat that was there off.

"Can I help you change your clothes?" She murmured, gently, and I nodded; the hot stickiness was uncomfortable. She peeled away my shirt, the cloth replacing it and refreshing the heat of my skin. I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

"Thank you," I said.

She didn't ask if I was okay, or what my dream had been about, and for that I was grateful. It was so like Grace not to pry, to trust the other party would open up on their own time and instead gently care for them.

"Morgan," she called. Morgan. Not Olivia.

I didn't realize I was crying until her hand swept under my eyes, wiping them away.

Goddess, since when had I longed for her to see me? Call me Morgan with her blue blue eyes, soft kind, staring into my own steel shaded ones.

She had forgiven me.

"What's wrong, love?"

Love. The endearment only increased the silent tears, and I held my hands loosely before me as I cried quietly, eyelids shut. I was too scared to open them, too scared it was all a dream.

"There is strength in mercy, my daughter."

I'd dreamt of my father's execution before, almost nightly, but every time I woke up I felt like something was missing. Like there was something after my father's beheading.

As it stood, all I could recall was a letter he had written to his late wife declaring his revenge. How noble of him to tell her that she could seek mercy only to secretly yearn for the opposite.

How selfish of me to take on his ambitions, his hatred, in his stead.

"There is strength in mercy, my daughter," the dream had gone, tonight, its color more vivid than I'd ever remembered. Blacks and whites and reds.

"I wish I had known that before your mother had died. Please, Morgan-- please, for me, be at pea--," he'd concluded, the final words before the blade swept between the crook of his neck.

"I'm such a fool," I breathed to Grace, hot tears running down my face as she moved to hold me. Her arms closed around me as if I were something delicate, breakable.

I hadn't listened to my father's last wishes at all, not even a little bit. I'd forced myself to forget his will, fooling myself into believing that revenge was what he really desired.

How long I'd beaten myself over feeling something for Grace, the only good that had ever come into my life, when I hadn't needed to. How stupid I had been.

I'm sorry, I wanted to say, but couldn't speak through the lump in my throat. Grace held me silently, caressing my hair, as if she already knew.

We stayed like that for hours.

...

I could tell my eyes were swollen as I tried to crack them open, wincing at the bright light flooding through the curtains.

"What time is it?" I mumbled, needing to know how much I had missed. I still needed to get everything together, lift the seal on the mine.

"Nothing for you to be concerned about," Grace said, and I could feel the smile in her words. I turned my head, slowly as to not infuriate it, to look at her.

Goddess, she was beautiful.

Her smile was open, eyes soft as she gazed down at me; the sun hit her hair like a halo behind her, framing her with light. She looked like divinity, an angel sent to collect me.

"You're real?" I heard myself saying before I could stop it.

"You're sick," she replied, stepping forward to place a gentle hand on my forehead, pressing me back into the bed. The weakness in my body did little to put up a fight.

"I have things to do," I said.

"Yes," she agreed.

"I should go do them," I hinted.

"No."

"No?"

"No."

I didn't know how to respond to that.

"I'm okay," I tried, "I'm not easy to kill."

Grace delivered a pointed look at my condition. "The doctor says you shouldn't even be able to move."

I lifted my arm.

"Seems fine to me."

"You'll stay here," Grace said, slowly, "until you recover."

"I'm your escort-- I need to stay by your side," I argued, quietly. Grace narrowed her eyes at that.

"You know that's just a pretense." Yes, I knew. There was no way Grace would ever let me protect her. But, still, I felt uneasy not being by her side.

"I..." I started, not knowing how to tell her my thoughts.

"I cannot trust anyone to take care of you, so I will be staying here with you," she continued. "The principal has allowed me to take leave from my graduation-- there's no real reason to attend, anyway. I'll be taking over the duchy as soon as we return."

"But-- Grace, you can't miss your graduation!"

"I can, and I will," she asserted, firm as she placed another cool cloth on the burning of my forehead. "Drink," she added, tipping water to my lips.

"No, wait, listen to me," I protested, pushing the cup away.

I don't have time to sit here. If Grace becomes the duke she needs power, which means I need to get a hold on that mine as soon as possible.

Instead of listening, Grace flattened her expression, lifting the cup to her own lips.

In a flash, she swept toward me, pushing the water into my mouth with her own. I felt my fever roar to life as dizziness made me fall backward, face lighting up.

"Grace, I-- ahh," my protest was cut off as she moved her lips lower, sucking a bruise into the sensitive skin between my neck and jaw. Then, she pulled back, and I covered her mark with my hands, glaring. Her face was a perfect mask, but amusement danced in her eyes, alongside a worry that made my stomach drop.

"Rest."

A/N:

She finally remembered!

you don't even know how long I had that scene stuck in my pocket.

edit: fixed the weird tense change halfway through