My Kind of Crazy

n

Years ago, Keladry met a boy.

Even though those times are done and gone, Kel still remembers how she met him (it was shortly after she became a squire with Lord Raoul's company) and she's still unsure how he managed to become such a fixed part of her memories – or her life.

Kel knows for a fact that she's told him to go away, to forget whatever this was, more times than she can count. She also knows that she's consciously ignored him until he was nothing to her; nothing more than a name or a face.

The fact that he's still here makes her hate him even more.

And then it makes her smile.

He's not one of the men that defined her life; he hasn't known her like Neal has, or loved her like Dom. He falls short of Lord Raoul, all things considered, and he's nowhere near as solid as Lord Wyldon. Her father is wiser, not to mention kinder, and she reserves far more respect for her King.

And yet when she's feeling half-starved for attention, Kel thinks about him.

n

Kel's on her stomach in the dirt, during training exercises with the Own. It's routine war games with a group of fresh-faced recruits; she could do this in her sleep, and she's bored of being look-out.

Lerant's standing a few yards away with some other men from their team, and he notices Kel staring. Grinning, he excuses himself from the conversation and wanders over, dropping down beside her.

"Hey," says Kel.

"Hey yourself," says Lerant back.

Kel wrinkles her nose at him and turns her attention back to waiting, listening for signs of the attack. It says volumes that even after all this time he takes his cues from Kel, lets her lead the conversation – insecure with his own worth in the relationship.

But it's not like the other men of the Own, the men who are too wary with respect or fear to speak. It's just Lerant, and she's sure that to him, she's just Kel – Lord Raoul's stupid squire who makes stupid mistakes. It's still insulting, but mostly a relief.

"How are things?" asks Kel after a few minutes, because it's getting awkward.

"Fine," says Lerant, his mouth twisting into something like a sneer.

The conversation effectively dies, and Kel doesn't know why she bothers.

At the same time, she's relieved that their conversation doesn't go any further – Lerant's got a knack for asking the hard questions. Those are the times when she almost wishes that he were afraid. Almost, but not quite.

Lerant's got a skewed view of the world that leaves Kel gaping, but she can't help but understand what he says, too. She wonders if it's because they both grew up outcasts of sorts; Lerant beneath social contempt, herself a foreigner and The Girl.

The real difference between them is that she's chosen to move on, chosen not to be bitter.

n

Lerant doesn't leave her breathless or giddy, and he's not an infatuation. He's pretty instead of handsome, his stare is unnerving, and he's not good for her at all.

He's upset at life, and Kel doesn't need that; she doesn't want someone pulling her down when she's got so many problems and doubts of her own. It's not healthy.

But when Lerant looks at her like that, it's so intense that nothing else could possibly matter. They kiss and it's not great, though it burns so brightly that Kel thinks she'll never see in colour again, and for once, she feels complete.

Kel hates Lerant so much sometimes; she wants to hurt him, and she knows that she can.

It's only because he's so much like her, though, that she does.