Sain Clare Academy (gxg, 18+)

Chapter Sixteen

"How can I let you walk?" She glared at me. "With bruises like those, it would be painful even to stand." I closed my mouth, staring forward as I rocked from the movement of her gait while in her arms. Somehow, still, my heart fluttered in our proximity, as if I were a child meeting her puppy love.

"You didn't answer me earlier," I mumbled, glad that she wasn't looking at me so she couldn't see my burning ears.

"I decided I would pick up your habit of avoiding questions," she rebutted. I bit my lip, not able to deny that.

"I saw your... sparring match with Annakin," I tried again. She sighed, and the sound traveled straight through me. I tried not to squirm; now was not the time.

"I'm not injured," she let me know.

"Oh," I squeaked. So then, why had she lost? Grace seemed to have read my mind.

"I was distracted," she said.

"Oh." I felt guilty of the relief that clouded my chest at her words-- I didn't have the right to worry about her, to want her to be happy when I was supposed to despise everything she was.

I knew I needed to remember the rage I felt whenever I saw the proof of royal blood, the feeling of terror when both my mother and father were executed innocently and I was left orphaned at barely 8 years old, stripped of title and land.

Still, I couldn't bring myself to feel that rage now, and instead, I gazed at her sparkling hair with fresh eyes. They way it managed to dance under the dim light of the hallway, cascading down her back in streams my hands yearned to run through, made it hard to focus.

"It really is pretty," I told her, my voice hoarse. "This time, you can know I didn't say it with any deep-rooted hatred." A beat passed, as if she didn't quite believe me.

"Maybe just a little, then," she sighed, and I giggled, the sound wet.

"Maybe a little," I agreed. For some reason, at that moment, everything felt okay, even though I knew it wasn't.

"Why didn't you tell m-- Miss Niel about the bruises?" I snuggled into her chest again, feeling bold. It was something I had been doing often, recently, though under less-than-desirable circumstances.

"I didn't want her to use any more magic than she needed," I informed her, breathing in her flowery scent. She stiffened at my answer, pausing for a moment before resuming her walk to the infirmary.

"She's a nurse, Olivia," Grace spoke, her frustration barely concealed. "She's trained to handle that kind of strain. This... this is serious." The way her voice dropped did flippy things to my stomach.

"I know," I breathed. I didn't know how to tell her that before I was Olivia, I was Morgan Ecliare; that I'd received injuries in the heat of battle I'd had to wear for weeks before I could get them treated. That I was used to it. That it wasn't important.

"If this was May, or Elizabeth, or someone, you would make sure they got treated, right?" I was sort of flattered that she had bothered to remember my friends' names.

"Of course," I asserted.

"So why wouldn't you get it treated yourself?" I quieted down; I didn't have an answer she wanted to hear. She lowered her voice. "Value yourself more, please." I was really glad she couldn't see my face-- I didn't want to know what kind of expression it held.

"I don't deserve it," I whispered. "And you, you should hate me after all of the things I've done. You've only shown me kindness, and all I've done is treat you horribly without any explanation."

"You haven't treated me horribly," Grace said, voice soft, "you smiled at me when everyone else was too scared to, apologized when I was the one at fault, asked if I was okay after I ignored you. You... still looked at me every day, even though you look as if you're being stabbed every time you see my hair."

"You don't want to know why?" I asked, voice so quiet I doubted she could even hear it.

"I don't need to. You are under no obligation to tell me your secrets," she replied, equally as gentle.

I felt tears prick at my eyes. What a stunning sense of justice she had; truly, she would make an excellent duke. Her ability to treat others fairly, recognize her own mistakes, and forgive was phenomenal. I could only wish that I had her maturity when I was a student myself.

No, I had been lost in the rage my father had bestowed upon me, intent to collect my revenge for his death.

While my friends had enjoyed their lives, I had toiled. It was only now after meeting May and Elizabeth and Grace that I realized how much I had been missing out on, blinded by my anger.

And even still, I couldn't cast it aside. It was all I had left of the father I loved.

Even if it threw me into despair, I would never forget my oath.

"This is becoming a habit, I see," Katarina said as Grace entered the infirmary for the third time that semester with me cradled, princess style, in her arms.

"I hope not," I muttered as Grace set me down on one of the beds.

"What's the problem this time?" Katarina asked as she snapped on a pair of gloves, pinning me with her eyes. Grace pulled my shirt down slightly, and I flushed red at her touch. Katarina gasped.

"M-Olivia! What the hell!" I winced at her shrill voice.

"I didn't want you to drain more mana after mending my wrist," I explained. She gaped at me.

"If I didn't know you so well, I would have thought you insulted me just now," she hissed, laying her hands over my back and letting her cool magic seep into my flesh. I stiffened at her words.

"Rina," I ground out under my breath, and her eyes widened. Grace had definitely heard that.

"Uh," she stuttered.

I sighed. "She used to be a nurse for my household before she worked at the academy," I lied. Grace nodded.

"I was also close to a number of my house servants," she related, and I smiled in relief.

"Yes, exactly," I agreed, glaring at Katarina. She was lucky I was a damn good actor.

It took a few minutes to administer the treatment, which I spent in relative silence trying not to notice Grace's piercing stare on me the whole time. It was sort of nice, in a way, because it had been missing for a couple of weeks. It was almost weird how I started missing the most peculiar habits of hers, like her ability to stare at me for thirty minutes straight.

When Katarina's hands finally lifted off of me, the pain had mostly alleviated but I was still exhausted.

"You should be fine now, but I would take it easy for a couple of days. I don't want to see you back here for at least another year," she scolded. Then, she turned to Grace. "You, I don't know what's happening here," she gestured between us, "but I love this delicate maiden more than anything in the world, and although she may be stubborn and annoying and hot headed at times, she's the most wonderful and sincere friend I've ever had. So. Take care of her."

Grace's eyes widened, baffled at the confrontation, and I covered my face with my hands in embarrassment.

"I'm not... like that... anymore," I protested weakly.

When I lifted my hands, I noticed that the corners of Grace's mouth had quirked up.

"On my honor," she promised. I felt myself stiffen at her words-- to swear an oath upon her family name, upon the name of her royal blood and her father's land, was to tie herself to her word. If she broke it, nothing but death would await her; she would be forced to end her life by her own hand to preserve her family's honor. Katarina looked shocked, too, but she quickly regained her composure and nodded tautly in reply.

On my honor.

A/N:

edited

god the gay pining is destructive