Daughters of the King |✓|

Chapter Twenty-Six

"Before the invasion," Gunnar started, running a hand up and down my bare back. In the low light of the bedside lamp, I watched shadows paint his hard face. "I didn't think war would be like this."

I laughed, because I knew what he meant. People always think of war as something other than what it is, don't they? They glorify it and find all kinds of ways to justify their violence. Sometimes, I feel like they actually crave it, crave the hideousness of it all, perhaps through some misguided sense of self-righteousness and heroism.

But then the war comes, and it isn't heroic or impressive. It isn't all honorable deaths and worthy causes. It is wastefulness at its best. People dying for no reason.

"In the end," he said, as though following my train of thought perfectly. "You can't even tell who or what you're fighting for. It all becomes a blur."

"I know," I said. "There's no right or wrong. There's only dead or alive."

"You're wise that way, Olya," he continued, bending his head closer to briefly press his lips in my white hair. "You're like an old soul. That's what I like most about you. You're not on any side of any war. The only side you're on is your own."

"I wouldn't think that would be very likeable."

"It is to me."

I took his hand, kissed the knuckles. "What did you see in me, that first time we met?"

"A girl made of lighting."

I laughed, even though he was being serious. "No, really. What did you think of me at first?"

"I thought you were insane," he admitted.

"That doesn't sound very likeable, either," I pointed out.

"Maybe you're not very likeable."

"But you love me?"

"Yes."

"Good," I said, and I kissed him once. "Aren't you curious what I thought of you?"

"I already know."

"Oh? And what is it you know?"

He didn't answer straight away. He just looked at me, suddenly very serious, but then after a minute had passed, he said, "I don't believe you thought of me at all. Not really, anyway. I was an obstacle or a tool, and nothing else. I resented you for it at first, but then I realized that... I didn't mind. Whether you care for me or not doesn't change the way I feel."

I'm sure the words would have sounded strange coming from anyone else, but this was Gunnar. As much as he was built to be a machine of war, a lethal and overpowering instrument of violence, he was also sacrificial and self-effacing. A man of god.

"But I do care about you," I told him.

He laughed humorlessly. "I can't for the life of me understand why. We're so different. You're a force of your own, and I'm a coward."

I looked at him funny. "What a strange thing to say, after you've risked everything to be here."

It sounded romantic, saying it aloud like that. He'd risked everything for us to be together.

"The one brave thing I've done," he allowed. "But I've always been a follower, and I will live and die a follower, while you will always carve your own path."

"What's so impressive about that?"

He looked at me like I was crazy. "Everything."

I shook my head. "You confuse me with your gods. Maybe that's why you've chosen me over them."