Katsa and Giddon, which, strangely, I ship (and there, last time I checked, are no stories about).
"Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind,"
-Helena, A Midsummer's Night's Dream, (I, i, 234)
"Marry me," he said.
-Giddon, Graceling, (Pg. 139)
As he watched Katsa leave, so fast he was sure the horse would be dead the moment it deposited her at her destination, he let his breath out, and sat down on the ground with a thump.
The wind ruffled his clothing, mussed his hair, raised goosebumps on his arms, but he didn't feel all too cold. He swallowed, and felt a tear fall out of his eye, sliding warm down his cheek, then, numbly, he felt salt in his mouth, running over his chapped lips.
His head ached, mind incredulous, heart bewildered. Hatred began to seep into him, mingling with the disbelief.
He'd been rejected, he so eligible, fine and rich a gentleman as she'd ever come by, moreover, agreeable, friendly, and definitely handsome, from all the female interest he generated at court, all the female interest he'd rejected for Katsa.
Oh, Katsa, his Katsa, had just took off on her horse, off to the king's castle, away from his castle, down the road and off and away.
Towards her precious Lienid, with the odd glowing eyes and rings and dark hair and dark skin. Her Lienid, who had barged into his life uninvited and stolen Katsa away from him.
It wasn't fair. He'd gotten there first, he'd been there longer, been with her through pain and joy and sucess and failure. It was him that she used to spend time with, he who, on the occasional instance, would make her face light up in a smile, blue and green eyes dance in surprising harmony.
It just wasn't fair.
At that moment, it wasn't Katsa that clouded him with rage, but her gods curst Lienid.
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