Chapter Nine
Gratiana pored over her French textbook, trying to memorize the marriage vows and what they meant. "Est-ce que vous prenez le travail de cet homme, comme son, et sa reine?" she repeated to herself. "Oh, what does it mean? Do you . Do you . take . Augh!!" she screamed, throwing the book across the room. Damon appeared behind her, laying his hands reassuringly on her shoulders. "Why don't you take a break from this French and start your sword training?" he suggested. Gratiana stood up. "Definitely. I can't stand this for another second," she said. Damon led her into a large training room. She slipped a suit of armour on over her clothes, and bound her hair up under a helmet. She chose a lightweight, sharp sword. "I'm ready to learn," she announced. "If you say so," he said, shrugging. "Leçon Un-Learn to fall!" he yelled, savagely pushing her down. She kept her blade aside. "Leçon Deux- Learn how to get up, fast!" Damon leapt after Gratiana, his sword raised. She flew out of the way, first rolling and then using the momentum to jump to her feet. "Leçon Trois- Defend!" Gratiana dodged all of Damon's attacks. "Et Leçon Quatre- Attack!" Damon threw out his arms in a vulnerable position. Clumsily held in one of Gratiana's hands, the sword struck him straight in the chest. It bounced off his breastplate with a resonant tone and shattered. Gratiana practiced on, shattering 3 beautiful metal swords before Damon made her switch wooden ones. She had some natural talent for sword fighting, and her anger helped her. Although he bore little resemblance to Lucient, instead of Damon's face, Gratiana was seeing the face of her fiancée, the morning he stumbled, drunk, into her bedroom. * * * With her anger being let out form her sword, Gratiana began to get along better with Lucient. She came to terms with Romeous's murder, and realized that she hadn't been tricked into marrying a murderer; she and Lucient loved each other. Catherine and Gratiana began planning the wedding. "It will be on the grand balcony. The railing will be taken down so the people can see you. The walkway can be lined with flowers, vines, lace, whatever you want," Catherine told her. They had already chosen Gratiana's dress. It was elegant and white, with thick straps around her arms instead of over her shoulders. It had a close-fitted embroidered top and a flowing skirt that just reached the floor. She also had a high, white gloves and a thick long veil, and from a single connective point flowed a very long, thick train. "Red roses," she answered softly, contemplating her wedding day. "Lucient loves les fleurs rouge ." Catherine smiled at Gratiana, acting very motherly, understanding her out-of-character genteelness. She noticed Gratiana unconsciously holding her middle from time to time, with a contented smile on her face. "Maybe we should move the wedding up . or else we'll have to let out the dress," Catherine coyly suggested. Gratiana caught herself caressing her slightly bulging stomach. "I haven't told him yet- -haven't told Lucient he's to be a father."
Gratiana pored over her French textbook, trying to memorize the marriage vows and what they meant. "Est-ce que vous prenez le travail de cet homme, comme son, et sa reine?" she repeated to herself. "Oh, what does it mean? Do you . Do you . take . Augh!!" she screamed, throwing the book across the room. Damon appeared behind her, laying his hands reassuringly on her shoulders. "Why don't you take a break from this French and start your sword training?" he suggested. Gratiana stood up. "Definitely. I can't stand this for another second," she said. Damon led her into a large training room. She slipped a suit of armour on over her clothes, and bound her hair up under a helmet. She chose a lightweight, sharp sword. "I'm ready to learn," she announced. "If you say so," he said, shrugging. "Leçon Un-Learn to fall!" he yelled, savagely pushing her down. She kept her blade aside. "Leçon Deux- Learn how to get up, fast!" Damon leapt after Gratiana, his sword raised. She flew out of the way, first rolling and then using the momentum to jump to her feet. "Leçon Trois- Defend!" Gratiana dodged all of Damon's attacks. "Et Leçon Quatre- Attack!" Damon threw out his arms in a vulnerable position. Clumsily held in one of Gratiana's hands, the sword struck him straight in the chest. It bounced off his breastplate with a resonant tone and shattered. Gratiana practiced on, shattering 3 beautiful metal swords before Damon made her switch wooden ones. She had some natural talent for sword fighting, and her anger helped her. Although he bore little resemblance to Lucient, instead of Damon's face, Gratiana was seeing the face of her fiancée, the morning he stumbled, drunk, into her bedroom. * * * With her anger being let out form her sword, Gratiana began to get along better with Lucient. She came to terms with Romeous's murder, and realized that she hadn't been tricked into marrying a murderer; she and Lucient loved each other. Catherine and Gratiana began planning the wedding. "It will be on the grand balcony. The railing will be taken down so the people can see you. The walkway can be lined with flowers, vines, lace, whatever you want," Catherine told her. They had already chosen Gratiana's dress. It was elegant and white, with thick straps around her arms instead of over her shoulders. It had a close-fitted embroidered top and a flowing skirt that just reached the floor. She also had a high, white gloves and a thick long veil, and from a single connective point flowed a very long, thick train. "Red roses," she answered softly, contemplating her wedding day. "Lucient loves les fleurs rouge ." Catherine smiled at Gratiana, acting very motherly, understanding her out-of-character genteelness. She noticed Gratiana unconsciously holding her middle from time to time, with a contented smile on her face. "Maybe we should move the wedding up . or else we'll have to let out the dress," Catherine coyly suggested. Gratiana caught herself caressing her slightly bulging stomach. "I haven't told him yet- -haven't told Lucient he's to be a father."