Thank you so much for this wonderful prompt <3
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He woke up to the scent of baked goods and bacon floating through the apartment. For a moment, he was comforted. But then he realised, it was 3 AM. He sighed, covering his eyes with an arm. She was it again, wasn’t she?
Levi plopped the covers to one side of the bed and tried to rub the sleep of his eyes. Christ. How long did he have to do this? He was exhausted, and this was clearly not the part of the duty he was getting paid for.
He was supposed to see that Claire doesn’t run away from the city, and do whatever rebel stuff these fragile princesses were into nowadays. He wasn’t there to fucking babysit her.
He made his way into the kitchen and saw Claire by the stove tapping her fingers in the marble-clad slab. The kitchen was faintly illuminated by the orange shower and for a second he was startled. The lights were off, and outside the barred windows, the darkness seemed to engulf their broken city into a longing filled hug. He looked up, and there it was. A shimmering blob of fire stranded in the air like it was not the most bizarre thing in the world. A gust of cold night wing would come and it would float, just below the ceiling. But never touching, never burning.
Magic.
He brought his eyes downwards, only to see Claire was leaning against the slab, her arms crossed, watching him with her hawk-like eyes. Sometimes, he wondered if she really was some sort of princess? Weren’t princesses supposed to be pretty, and good-natured, and stuff like that? All soft edges, and easy smiles? If there was a crash course on the ‘Don’ts’ of being a princess, Claire would nail it. She was everything, a princess wasn’t supposed to be. But then, she came from a land of barbarians. That they understood human language, was a miracle in itself.
“You know, you are not supposed to do magic in here, don’t you?” Levi tried to mask the irritation in his voice. If she knew waking up at 3 AM to keep an eye on his nemesis pissed him off, Claire would do that every goddamn day, he was alive on the face of the earth.
“I know. I also have absolute disregard for your rules.” There was a slight smirk in her voice. He recognised it well. In the battlefields, before the blood spills, it is the cutting remarks that taint the air.
Levi scowled: he couldn’t help himself. He ran his hand through his dishevelled hair, trying to push the wayward locks back. “C’ mon Claire. Get back into the bed, and don’t make me report your impromptu night witchcraft.”
“Why? Are you afraid of a little magic, soldier?” She taunted.
Levi crossed her arms and waited for her tantrums to subside. He was groggy, and he had a long day. He was not dealing with her luxury accustomed ass. He was not one of the servants in her giant castle, who would play into her hands, just to satisfy her whims.
“No. Dear princess, I am not. I am not afraid of you.” He set his jaw and quashed his hesitance. “I am disgusted by you.”
Claire’s smirk faded. “Look who is talking about disgust.” She leaned forward slightly and sneered. Actually sneered. “The valiant, bloodhound, whose father kills innocent people, and raids there home, and sells them into slavery.”
Levi bristled. “He is not my father. He is my commander.”
Claire laughed. A short mocking laugh that hung in the air. “No need to be ashamed of your daddy issues, soldier. It is, after all, not the worst of you.”
Levi sighed. He wanted to say something that would scratch all her soft parts too. But he didn’t. You have to lose battles, to win the war. Their commander had said.
He waited for her to budge and follow him, but she didn’t. Instead, if anything, her chin grew more defiant, and she seemed to dig her toes in the ground.
Make me go, I dare you. She seemed to say.
Something ugly roared his head, inside Levi’s chest. He curled his fist to stop himself from lashing out. This is not the battle of strength, solider. This is the battle of wits. This is the battle of manipulation, and emotional torture.
He took a step forward, and then another until they were almost touching. He could feel her disgust, this close. Her desire to recoil away from him. Good. Above them, the orange blob of fire burned brighter, and air stilled. They were both in their elements, and the earth stopped and waited. He locked his eyes, with her brown ones. He needed to make this point across. He needed her to hear this, and hear it well.
“You might be a princess, doamna mea, but you are still a princess of a losing nation.” He sneered, and Claire’s eyes flashed. The orange blob burned even brighter. “You, your people—they are fighting for a lost cause. You think your pretty witchcraft is going to save you?” He could hear the ground of her teeth. Shame and giddiness tumbled inside him in a heady mixture, and he was drunk on it. Isn’t this how a soldier supposed to be. Mercy is supposed to be for those who deserve it. “No Claire, your orange blobs of light are not going to save you. They are buying you time. Time that is running out, as we speak. Our forces are going to march into your homes and destroy every one of you. They are going to kill your people, your friends, and massacre your children. Because you—and your people, are an abomination.”
He took a step back. The room was starting to smell like smoke on the wind. Claire was still rooted in her spot, watching him. Her jaw was impossibly tight, and her cheeks were flushed. She was holding her sides of her jacket as if her life depended on it. Levi felt a pang of guilt, and he crushed it as soon as it reared its head. He turned around expecting her to follow him. But she didn’t.
In one swift motion, she had him pushed against the wall, her long fingers curling against the hem of his shirt, pulling them so tight, he was afraid, she was going to tear them apart. Or light him up. She was fire, through and through. Every part of hers was burning. She was like a matchstick, always waiting to be ignited. Only more deadly.
Claire was looking at him. And for a second he believed, that she was going to kill him. Her brother had died in this war. Died because of his troops. Died at the hands of his commander.
Instead, she uncoiled her hands and took a step back. Then another, and another until she was perched on the slab.
Then she took the freshly cooked beacon.
She locked her eyes, with his, and slowly put the piece of bacon into her mouth. You have no power over me.
Levi didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. He just looked at her. And then he titled his body, just slightly towards the door. Go to bed. Sleep. Don’t make me report it.
Claire didn’t stop, but she didn’t look away. Another piece of bacon. The slow movement of her teeth crushing it. You won’t.
Levi looked at her then. Really looked at her then. At her dark, jet black hair, at her brown skin– a testament to all the fire inside her, and her jaw that remained perpetually tense. I know. But you will never hear me say it.
Claire looked away and continued eating. The room grew darker, and long shadows from walls begin to merge. She was a princess, and nature itself seemed to do her bidding. The room grew colder, and he knew she didn’t want him there anymore. He could have her killed, one call, just a hint of dissent, and she would be dead. And yet he had never felt so powerless.
She continued eating as if he was hollow, insignificant. Maybe, he was. It hurt more than he had expected to. He looked at her once more before leaving.
Apathy has more venom than disdain.