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Wildfire Beauty

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He was once the son of a noble, he remembers how the women of the court looked, he knew what beautiful was meant to look like. He used to see so many small petite women with round pale faces, small mouths but full lips, and sparkly white teeth. They curled their hair into dainty spirals, kept them clean and well brushed, curls curving around the face, and pulled up to show off the pale stretches of their necks. Then there were the dresses, with their deep chest lines and sweeping lengths. Those women were undoubtedly pretty, Court pretty though. After his parents’ death and his violent thrust into the world, he discovered a different kind of beauty.

 

Kathrine had a soft round face, and she was small, but her nose was sharp, her lips cracked, always pulled into vicious sneers that showed off the wicked canines she had. Her hair could have been curly in a former life, but now it stuck out in a wild ragged mess, the edges signed short and darkened to a nasty muddled blonde from being stained with soot. Burn scars curled across her cheeks and under her pale blue eyes. She wore sleeveless shirts that showed off the definition of her arms, but her neck was usually covered all the way up to her jaw. She had a shawl of dense brown fur to shield the more sensitive burns from the sun.

 

Court ladies had small flawless hands with neatly clipped nails. The most work their hands did was holding silverware and picking up their skirts to walk. Kat’s nails were chipped and her fingertips rough from digging through her garden; her palms are soft, but burns crawled up her wrists and sometimes up to her fingers. Her fingers were long and thin, perfect for plucking at the magic in the air and wielding it like it was meant to obey her.

 

Kathrine wasn’t Court pretty, but he thought he had never seen anyone more beautiful. The first time he had said as much, Kat had sneered at him with her sharp teeth and had called him stupid with her even sharper tongue, but he had seen the way her fingers curled close to her palms and the way her sneer softened into a smile when she thought he had looked away.

 

He knew Kat hated her scars, he knew she believed she was ugly. He remembered the way she had described her from another life, with long spiral curls, pale blonde hair, her skin had been smooth, unblemished, her face doll-like, and her smile sweet and gentle. The old Kat probably had been pretty, but she was Court pretty, delicate, and docile. He thinks about how what little Kat has told him of her past, of the things that plague her nightmares, and he knows that his Kat, this fierce, wild, and blazing version of her, is more beautiful, with her sneers and unyielding will. He thinks about the way she looks with fire dancing around her, the flames moving to the tune she plucks through the air, and he thinks about the wild delight in her eyes. He knows which Kat he thinks is more beautiful.

 

“You’re beautiful,” He gasped, back hitting the trunk behind him. Kat laughs, wild and delighted; her lips are pulling up into one of those sneers of hers, her sharp teeth glittering in the light. She’s like a feral cat, eyes gleaming dangerously and body elegantly slotting up against his own.

 

“Careful, Jonathan,” Kat purred, hands curling into his scarf, the red material tightening in a way that makes his next breath a bit difficult. “I might think you’re trying to give me your heart,” she breathed, lips brushing his and aggravating the cut in his lip.

 

“It’s been yours,” He replied, pressing a kiss to her lips, he felt her pleased hum through his lips, either from the taste of copper on her tongue or from his admission.

 

“Your honesty is gonna kill me,” Kat laughs, pulling him down further, so she doesn’t have to tilt her head far, “I want to devour you sometimes.”

 

“Like a wildfire devours a forest?” He asked, smirking when he gets a wild cackle. Kat, after a battle, was one of his favorite sights, it’s when her scowls disappear, and her eyes light up; she stops trying to pretend she’s docile and just lets herself be.

 

“I should choke you with this stupid scarf for being so cheeky,” Kat sneered, her voice taking a vicious edge, he knew she probably would if she felt inclined. Kat’s disregard for most life would have scared others, but not Jon, he was the same. The world didn’t care when everything was taken from him, so why should he care. It’s why he had been interested in Kat, their sharp edges didn’t fit perfectly together, but they had learned how not to cut each other.

 

“You could; I might let you,” He shrugged, smirking at the way Kat’s eyes narrowed, pupils darkening. “But you’d lose someone who enjoys when you push him into things." His breathing shortened when the grip in his scarf tightened, Kat baring her teeth in a smirk of her own. Kat may be able to command fire as easily as she breaths, but he could overpower her, he was stronger than her and could push her away.

 

“You’re so pliant for a nobleman,” Kat huffed, grip relaxing to let him breathe. Her eyes were twinkling possessively, Kat had tried pushing him away for so long, but he knew now that she let herself love him, that she’d never let him go, not that he’d want her to.

 

“Good thing I’m not a Nobleman, only the son of a dead one,” He replied. Kat smiled, something soft and loving. Her next kiss is gentle, and her fingers release his scarf to cradle his jaw, rough finger pads caressing his scruff.

 

“Yes, good thing.”