The Knight Academy

CHAPTER 11

I read that a certain culture believed if you were in love without any meaning, as most love is, or so romantics say, it will never last for a lifetime. You don't love a girl for her looks. She'll grow old. It's not her personality either. She'll change. You don't love a boy, either, but if you did, you weren't supposed to, as a boy.

The Rottings House would kill me if I fell in love with a boy.

Like other knight families: we had to produce an heir, male or female, we must reproduce. The Rottings Knights would always have a place next to the King, and our rapiers should never be unused, our coat of arms embroidered for years to come.

Why did I love? What was my "meaning"? How would I love Clive? I went back and retraced the steps, but I can't say for sure.

Was Clive's appearance attractive? I suppose, but as I admitted his beauty I would admit many more girls were attractive, yet I doubted I could've felt towards a woman what I felt towards Clive.

So the meaning of our love might've been we were the best partners Graycotts could create. His meaning was to complete me as a knight and my meaning was to complete him.

The only drawback was that Clive was a murderer, and he loved me. Sure, he's my roommate, and the mood would spur once I rejected him, but could I say I truly loved him without knowing his past?

Dammit!

I did care for him. When I saw his silhouette when he slept I noted how Clive always faced me. I thought it was because the appallingly bright moonlight subconsciously drew his eyes to my side, but he always faced me, maybe to see me and maybe to let me see him.

I cared for the way Clive didn't force me to do anything I'd regret or dislike, the way Clive and I always went to the shower stalls together like before, and how he always smiled as he said goodbye to me and we went for separate classes.

I was always headed for my Latin class, and he went off to Literature class.

We studied the same courses though, and as number two and number three of the tenth years, we were respected.

Clive grew more and more popular, nodding his head as people talked about how they wanted to play some game with him. Recently some game involving flags emerged, much like the exams we had in tenth year. There were two teams, and each tried to steal one another's flag.

Wyatt was always a goalie and I watched from the window how Clive attacked and defended. He was a fast runner but when he ran he had a glint in his eye before he tackled the enemy. 

Clive invited me over one day after school. He was changing into the shirt and the pants we wore for physical education, not wanting to dirty his blazer or school pants.

"Nathan, come hang out with me. I want to try playing Steal The Flag with you," he teased.

"Well, your friends probably wouldn't want me to join," I replied, hiding the note I was writing before tearing up. It was about my feelings for Clive and how I couldn't sort it out and I had to have an heir and—

"Just come! They owe me anyways, I'm always the best in the team." Clive pulled me up and with a groan I tucked my letter in my book and changed alongside him.

"It's going to turn out awful," I muttered, knowing Wyatt was a bully.

We stepped out later and I inhaled in the winter air. To the other boys who had began playing they were sweating and seemed glad it was so cold. Clive's nose was pink and when he laughed he looked so innocent.

"Let's go!" Clive ran to them and I followed. "Boys! Nathan is joining us!"

"Who?" they asked until they saw me.