It'd been two weeks of utter torture on Amaya's end, waiting for her commander to finally confess. At this point, she was just about ready to kick down his door and investigate for herself, but it didn't take long for her to realize that those sorts of actions would easily cause a lot of confusion and mistrust in their relationship. Whatever their relationship was. She had felt increasingly more confused as he spent time with her, laughing and leaning close, blushing at certain things she said. Was he not serious about Antoinette? Or was he just playing with her heart? Amaya never pegged Gren as a player, but that soldier he was talking to weeks earlier could've dragged him into the lifestyle.
She was starting to get antsy. Gren had started spending less time with her and more with the castle gardener, the gardener, of all people. He seemed distant despite his confusing undercurrents of flirting and getting flustered in her presence. Maybe she was reading too much into it. Maybe he was just embarrassed to tell her what he was hiding. Who he was hiding.
Along with hearing of this Antionette character, Amaya had sneakily eavesdropped on collecting a few more of Gren's female friend's names. Besides the one she heard most about, she had also learned that Colette, Alexandra, and Nancy were acquaintances of his that had spent some time in his quarters.
Again, as she walked past the castle's gardens, she caught a glimpse of Gren on his knees, digging in the dirt with the caretaker. She frowned. He seemed perfectly content lowering himself to the older man's position, getting dirt under his nails. Immediately, Amaya chastised herself for thinking of the gardener in such a lowly way. All of the overanalyzing of Gren's character and private life made her irritable and twitchy.
She recounted the last time Gren had dirt under his nails. He told her he'd been sweeping, which she didn't believe, but watching him plant in the garden made more sense. But why would he be embarrassed about plants? She dropped the idea. Gren was a nice guy and if the gardener asked him for help he'd get into the dirt in a heartbeat.
Sulking, she dragged her feet to the weapon stock, a small, circular stone building set to the side of the courtyard. Amaya was on weapon duty today, meaning she needed to clean and sharpen all the weapons to prepare them for training. She hadn't bothered to check who her weapon-sharpening partner was on the assigned sheet in the mess hall, but didn't really care regardless. Oftentimes soldiers beneath her were too frightened to openly interact with her. Except for Gren, but he hardly counted.
She unlatched the heavy wooden door, the bottom of it scraping against the stone. Her partner wasn't there yet, but she sat herself on a bench, snatching an armful of swords before she settled down with her whet stone. Amaya was two whets into the blade before sunlight shone through the opening door.
Gren.
Amaya suddenly felt guilty of all of her unnecessary stalking and overanalyzation. He was standing before her, beaming as if nothing was wrong and as if he had nothing to hide. Maybe he didn't and she was misreading something that she already knew about. Antoinette, though? She frowned.
Upon seeing her grumpy face, Gren sobered and sat beside her, reaching over her lap to grab a blade. He smelled of fresh basil. She unexpectedly wanted to hold him close and inhale his scent until she got physically ill from it. Amaya squeezed her eyes shut to extinguish the urge.
When she opened them, Gren was leaning towards her, concern furrowing his brows. Are you okay?
Amaya nodded, returning to her sword, which she realized had been sharpened a little too much. She set it aside. They made their way through the blades quickly, and soon they were polishing them, squinting in the fading light of day. The darkness seemed to thicken the atmosphere. The two soldiers appeared to have moved closer, their thighs brushing against each others as they worked. Amaya felt alert at the contact, but upon looking at Gren, he gave the impression of being completely relaxed.
Irked, Amaya scooted an inch to the left. Although he was trying to be subtle, Gren set down a polished sword and picked up a new one. In that time, he scooted alongside her, nonchalant.
Amaya let the sword fall into her lap. Don't you have a—she turned to face him, ready to burst in curiosity, but he was close, dangerously close.
The shadows highlighted the strong lines of his cheekbones, jaw, and chin. His eyes were dark and intense, missing their usual mischievousness. Gren's thick lips were parted in a relaxed manner. He leaned closer. Have a what? Gren's gaze flickered down to her mouth. Even in the shadows, Amaya could see he flushed, but he removed his hand from the polishing cloth and set it on the bench near her hip.
This could be so easy. So painfully easy. Two inches forward and she'd give into her lingering curiosity. Not about the secret he was hiding, but about him. She wanted to. Gosh, Amaya wanted to. Gren seemed to understand her desire and he bent his head lower, closer.
Amaya signed a word, a single word so small he couldn't see it that broke the spell he cast on her. Antoinette. She wouldn't kiss a cheater. She wouldn't be another one of the women he was hiding. She was above that, above him.
The sword on her lap clattered to the ground as she stood up abruptly. Finish polishing these, I'm going to bed, she said, not meeting his gaze. She didn't want to look at his face, no matter how handsome. Amaya was disappointed in herself for falling into his trap and was disappointed in him. Since when had he become like this?
The next week, Amaya was off. She was unusually rough during training, which only happened if Katolis was threatened with war or if she was mad at someone or something. She was indeed mad and confused about her friend's antics with the whole leaning-in-while-polishing-swords thing. Typically, ordering her soldiers around would help ease the frustration off her shoulders, but watching Gren give 110 percent into the exercises only made her emotions grow tenfold. Why couldn't she break him?
It didn't help that Gren's white shirt was slick with sweat and his broad chest was heaving from effort. The way he ran his fingers through his bright orange hair that shone in the sunlight made her more determined to work him until he shattered.
50 more pushups, Amaya demanded of everyone, and she saw some of the soldiers' mouths open in a groan. 100 because you complained.
In his strong-mindedness, Gren was the first to drop to the ground and gave 100 pushups without batting an eyelash. Even though the sweat dripped from the tip of his crooked nose, he did the exercise with ease.
She couldn't stand looking at him. Partner up, she said, once they were done, grab your weapons.
It was nearing midnight when the training finished, the soldiers were exhausted and Amaya was the same although she refused to show it. To encourage her troops, she often joined in on the exercises to better her mind and body and form unity with the guards.
The general rounded the corner of the soldier's barracks when she nearly ran face-first into Gren's chest. A towel was draped over his broad shoulders as he dabbed sweat from his brow with the tip of the cloth. She felt small with him standing this close, in all of his 6 foot 1 glory.
He must've seen the panic alight in her eyes and the defensive stance she took. Are you okay? He asked again, just like he had a week ago when they were in a similar situation. His warm hand rested on her shoulder.
Amaya's mind went into overdrive. He was close. His hand was on her shoulder. He was concerned. He was sweaty. He was muscular. He was hot. He smelled like basil. She was stressed and losing sleep over him because of his stupid secret that she could likely figure out if she barged into his room. Without thinking, she said, let's go to your room.
Gren stepped back, face burning a bright red that wasn't from the exercises. What?
Okay, she worded that incorrectly. You're hiding something, she tried, replacing the step he took away. She jabbed her finger into his chest. You're not telling me something and it's driving me crazy. Did she have nothing better to do than worry over her best friend's hobbies?
W-why do you want to go to my room? He was hedging. Looking awkward and fidgeting under her intense gaze. If she could, she'd just grip his shoulders and shake the answers out of him.
Upon closer inspection, Amaya saw his eyes shifting back and forth nervously. She was making him uncomfortable and she hated that. She had thought she'd do anything to weasel the answer out of him, but this was the last thing she wanted. She stepped back. I'm sorry. I've been investing too much time in this and it's not necessary. I'll let it go. She felt ashamed of herself, forcing her curiosity onto her best friend. The only person she could ever, truly trust must've felt violated. I've been a terrible friend and have doubted you for far too long. I'll let you go now.
Feeling empty, Amaya turned away from him. She started to walk down the hall to her own quarters where she would likely crash onto her mattress and slap the sides of her head until she knocked herself out. What an idiot she'd been!
The fingers clutching her hand made her whip around, alert.
Why are you being so dramatic? Gren said. I mean, I know you've been acting strange for the past while, but you're not even telling me what you want! Hadn't she? You've been so cryptic and have been avoiding me and accusing me of things I don't even know about!
Oh. Maybe he was a little right.
Okay, I'll admit, I'm not telling you everything, but do I need to? I mean, it's not a big deal in the first place. I think you're blowing this way out of proportion. He huffed, scratching the back of his neck. There… is a reason I'm hiding things, but it's not because I don't like you. Gren's eyes widened at his words and then started flapping his arms. Wait—I mean—I'm not—
Just show me, Gren. She couldn't help but read a little too much into the 'I like you' thing. It also made her wonder why he was trying to justify himself. She frowned.
Gren sighed. Sure. Follow me.
A/N: Geez, they're both hopeless
