Chapter Text
22nd June, 1706
Bellamy was proud of himself. He had learnt the dance moves, he had the clothes and he had a mask. By taking out one of the solo attendees with a swift jab to the neck and hiding their unconscious body behind a large bush, he had managed to obtain an invitation.
To dearest Mister Gerald Thwaite, it read. He shrugged. He could absolutely be a ‘Gerald Thwaite’ for an evening.
Bellamy adjusted his black Venetian mask whilst the servant at the door of the palace eyed his stolen invitation. The thief gave the servant a dirty, mischievous smirk when the invitation was accepted and he was allowed into the ballroom. With a wink, Bellamy joined the throng of well-dressed royals, lords and ladies. The moment he was in, Bellamy got to work.
He spied the thrones at the other end of the room, with the Queen and King seated there, the princess’ throne empty beside them. Bellamy knew that the royal’s gold was kept in the west tower, and he knew the route to get there. The door to the staircase was right behind the King and Queen. All he had to do was slip through the door without being noticed. He just needed a distraction.
Just as he was about to start towards the banquet table to grab a bite to eat before making any drastic moves, a hand grabbed his shoulder. He spun around, sighing when his eyes found those of his sister, peering at him through the eye holes of her own black mask.
“How did you recognise me?” he whispered, pulling her to the side and frowning. “I’m wearing a damned mask!”
Octavia chuckled. “Bell, I’ve been trailing you for weeks. I saw you take out that gentleman outside, so I knocked a girl unconscious to take her invitation too.” She took a bite of an apple she’d grabbed from the table. “I also saw you buy your mask last week so I bought my own just in case.”
“Why have you been following me?” Bellamy hissed. He was annoyed. He hadn’t seen her in at least three years and she hadn’t even had the decency to say hello.
“I wanted to see what you’re like.” Octavia shrugged. “If you’re respectable.” At this, they both snorted. Respectable certainly wasn’t a word to describe either of them. “I’m only joking with you. I wanted to see how you’re faring these days when it comes to getting by. I can only assume from what you’re doing here that you think you can get hold of some fancy man’s gold?”
“Not just any fancy man’s gold,” Bellamy scoffed. “The King and Queen’s.”
Octavia’s eyes went wide. “You aren’t serious? You’ll never manage that. There are too many guards around.”
“All I’ve got to do is get through that door.” He pointed. “Plus, what are they going to do if they catch me? Kill me?” Bellamy laughed loudly. He’d love to see them try. Octavia whacked him on the arm.
“Do shut up,” she snapped. “Don’t suggest something so stupid.”
Bellamy poked his tongue out. “What are you going to do about it?”
Octavia sighed and crossed her arms, scanning the room with narrowed eyes. “There’s nothing I can do. You’re your own man. Just don’t be a prat and get caught.”
“When have I ever been caught?”
“Uh, I don’t know. When you tried to climb into that woman’s chambers that time; when you tried to steal the jewels from the merchant in Venice...”
“Okay, okay! The question was rhetorical!” Bellamy raised his hands in defence and grinned sheepishly. “Not everyone’s perfect.” Octavia hummed sarcastically in agreement. “I’m going to scope out the guard set up of the room. You stay out of my way.”
He swaggered his way across the dance floor, finding the first single lady he could so that he could ask her to dance. She agreed very quickly, flushing and flustering at being ‘chosen’, which boosted Bellamy’s ego just a little.
Using his blushing dance partner as a façade, he scanned the room for the whereabouts of the guards and the royals. The King and Queen were still seated on their thrones, and there were guards posted at every corner and at every door. Just as he was bringing his eyes back to those of his dancing lady, he caught sight of a beautiful, voluptuous blonde standing by the edge of the dance floor, gazing at him. She had an intricate golden mask and an incredible golden dress that swept across the floor beside her. Her breasts were perched precariously in her corset. Bellamy was captivated, and not just by her breasts. She was absolutely enchanting.
“Excuse me,” he muttered to his dance partner, before abandoning her and sauntering across to the blonde. She eyed him curiously as he bowed and flashed her a wolfish grin. “Good evening.”
She smiled warmly at him and curtsied. “Good evening. I would introduce myself but I do think that would quite spoil the fun of the masquerade, don’t you?”
“Indeed it would.” He offered his arm to her. “Would you care to dance? You look ever so lonely.”
The woman glanced from left to right, biting her bottom lip under her teeth. Eventually, she nodded. “I would love to.” Then she was the one to flash him a wicked grin. “As long as you can keep up.”
True, her dancing skills were impeccable. She glided across the floor with him as if her feet barely touched the ground. Her eyes stayed locked on his for most of the dance; he was firmly under whatever spell she had cast upon him. They waltzed this way and that, gasping slightly each time their hands came into contact as and when the dance so required. The touch was electric. They must have been a spectacle, because a few people had stopped dancing to watch them.
As the piece of music came to an end, Bellamy and the woman made their way back to where they had met, laughing and chatting. She was very intellectual, well-spoken and interesting. For a while, Bellamy had forgotten why he was even in the palace at all.
“Would you oblige me in a walk around the gardens?” he asked, praying the hopefulness in his words wasn’t too pathetically obvious. “It’s a beautiful night.”
A pink tinge speckled her cheeks as she nodded, wrapping her arm around his and allowing him to guide her towards the open doors. Octavia stood with her back against the wall, flashing him a look that said ‘what on earth are you doing?’ He gave her a slight shrug in reply, because he didn’t really know the answer to that question.
“So what is it you do for a living?” the woman asked.
“I partake in odd jobs here and there,” Bellamy answered somewhat truthfully. In reality, he was a thief, living for the thrill of the steal and for the various places that thieving took him. But when he was feeling like being as normal as an immortal person could possibly be, he would take up jobs where he could find them just to pass the time. “What about you?”
“I work in the palace,” she sighed, looking away from him. “It’s not particularly as joyous as you may think.”
A palace worker? Could she help him steal the gold? They could run away together...
No. Bellamy was getting ahead of himself. He barely knew this girl and she could easily turn him in.
“What do you do in the palace?” He instead tried to indulge her.
She had a strange expression in response to that question. “Um, I clean? It’s actually very boring.”
They continued walking until they reached a fountain. In the moonlight, the woman was even more stunning. Her eyes reflected the stars and he found himself immersed in thinking about what her lips tasted like.
“Come and work with me,” he offered, not really sure of what he was saying because he was too distracted by the beauty spot above her lip.
“What?” She was taken aback. “Work with you?”
He frowned. “You make it sound as though I’m some kind of scoundrel!” (Which he was, to be honest)
“No! No that’s not what I meant...I mean that I couldn’t simply just leave the palace...”
Bellamy smirked, pulling her to a bench and bringing her down to sit next to him. “Have you signed some kind of life contract?”
Her eyes turned sad. “Of sorts.”
“Run away. With me. I’ll teach you everything I know and we’ll work together.”
She laughed at this. “You said you do various things. What is that you think you can teach me explicitly?”
Bellamy’s stomach turned. Should he? Should he?
“I’m actually a thief,” he whispered, leaning close to her. “I steal things for a living and I’m actually here on a job.”
She gasped, but moved closer. He swore he caught her staring at his lips. “You do?”
“Yes.” Now he was staring at hers. “I steal all sorts of things. Jewels, papers, gold, silver. I’m very good at it.”
“Really...” They were less than a hair’s breadth apart now. Bellamy stroked her face with his thumb and tilted her head back.
“Really. I want you to help me on my job.”
“W-what is it that you are here to steal?” She clutched his hand, which was still resting on her cheek.
“Gold. Lots of gold. You work here. Help me and you can be rid of this place. I can show you the world and you can be free. With me.”
At this, she grabbed his face and pulled his lips to her own. She tasted like strawberries and champagne. He wasn’t sure what it was that he had said. She kissed him hungrily, as if she couldn’t get enough. He kissed her back with a reciprocating amount of urgency. Her hands tangled in his hair and pulled him in closer. Bellamy placed one hand behind her back and another on the back of her head. Their mouths moved in sync and he had to admit that when she moaned softly, it went straight to his crotch. He couldn’t help but moan in response, which seemed to make her squirm too.
“Clarke!” a voice barked. The girl pulled away instantly, fumbling with her mask and dress. The King and Queen, of all people, were standing a few feet away. They looked...well, they looked angry. Then it hit him. Clarke was the name of the...
“Princess? You’re the princess?” he choked, standing and backing away in disbelief. He’d kissed the princess.
He’d told the princess that he wanted to steal her family’s gold.
Bellamy wanted to kick himself. He was a goner. He was going to get caught again just like Octavia said, and then he would be at the brunt of her saying “I told you so”.
“Yes,” the girl muttered. “I’m the princess.”
“Clarke, please go back inside,” the Queen ordered. “I think you’ve had quite enough of mingling with the...” She looked Bellamy up and down. “...common folk.”
Bellamy had only just been able to swallow the fact that he’d danced with the princess, and now he was being called ‘common folk’?
“This boy broke into this ball without an invitation. He assaulted a member of parliament and hid him behind a bush outside of the palace. He is a charlatan who had the audacity to kiss the princess. My daughter. I am disgusted.”
“You don’t understand, I am Gerald Thwaite!”
“Gerald Thwaite is a good friend to the royal court, who appeared outside the palace doors about ten minutes ago. He was extremely disgruntled and eager to see you captured.” The Queen peered down her nose at Bellamy. “You knocked out the wrong man, you fool.” She turned to the King. “Call the guards.”
Bellamy gulped around the lump in his throat.
The princess – Clarke – was clearly very upset. Her eyes were brimming. “Mother, please. Please don’t kill him! He didn’t do anything wrong!”
“He broke into a private event, Clarke,” the King had sighed. “He assaulted a government official.”
The Queen didn’t speak for a while. She simply regarded Bellamy, who stood there in silence.
“GUARDS!” she shrieked eventually.
Bellamy’s heart sank. What happened next was a blur. Clarke started yelling at her mother about something whilst three guards came and grabbed him. Something hard smacked him on the side of the head. The last thing he remembered was Clarke’s helpless face staring at his.
*
The cell was dank; it smelt like rotten food and human waste. Bellamy was annoyed that Octavia hadn’t found a way to get him out yet. He was done with counting the bricks on the wall.
“Hey!” He glanced up. The whispered ‘hey’ had come from none other than Clarke, who was now wearing horse-riding gear and no mask. She was somehow even more beautiful than he imagined she would be.
“Clarke? What are you doing here?” Bellamy grabbed the bars, desperate to just touch her.
She produced a set of keys from behind her and jangled them, smiling proudly. “I just knocked out a guard.” She said it as though she were more surprised at herself than anything else.
Bellamy was impressed. That must have taken some guts. “So you’ve just come to tell me that?”
Clarke scowled. “No, you scoundrel,” she chuckled, quoting him. A key slipped into the lock. “I’m here to let you out.”
The moment the door was open, he grabbed her waist and kissed her deeply. Her response was instant, grasping his hair again and shoving him against the wall.
After a few moments, she broke the kiss. “You have to leave. We haven’t got much time before the guard wakes up.”
From her bag, she produced a rather large cloth sack. “Here. It’s gold. It’ll be enough to support you for months. It’s also all I could get my hands on.”
Bellamy gazed at her in awe. “Clarke...you didn’t have to do that.”
She shrugged, brushing some hair from her eyes. “I know. But I want you to be okay. Despite the fact that you’re a thief and that you live on the illegal side of life, you intrigue me. You’re the kind of man I’ve always wanted. Adventurous. Handsome. Free.” The last word slipped miserably from her lips.
God, this girl was something else. “Run away with me, please.” He didn’t want to sound desperate.
But he was.
She laughed, sad-eyed, and shook her head. “I can’t. This kingdom is mine upon my mother’s death. I owe it to the family and the kingdom to take the throne and rule. It’s kind of my job.”
A lump formed in his throat. He knew she couldn’t leave. “Clarke. You’ll be fantastic.”
There was a grunt from the hallway. The guard was waking up.
“Go!” she urged, pointing. “Don’t stop running until you reach the wall. There’s a rope there ready for you to use to climb over it. Then keep running until you’re safe.”
Once again, he pressed his lips against hers.
“May we meet again,” he whispered, resting his forehead on hers.
“May we meet again,” she replied.
Bellamy took off, running past the guard and out through the open prison door. He didn’t stop running.
He also didn’t stop thinking about Clarke.
May we meet again rang in his ears.
Little did Bellamy Blake know that he would meet Clarke Griffin again, but in very different circumstances.