The Commander’s Choice

by Anonymous

Summary:

Clarke Griffin never asked to be a contender for the Commander’s hand.
But when the Chancellor of Arkadia offers her up to strengthen the alliance with the Coalition, she’s forced to travel to Polis—angry, reluctant, and very much prepared to hate Lexa, the ruthless ruler of the thirteen clans. Lexa expected politics. What she didn’t expect was Clarke.

A story of duty, defiance, and a love neither of them saw coming.

Chapter 1: One

The soft knock on the door came just as the last golden strand of daylight slipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the stone walls of the Griffin estate. Clarke sat at the window, sketching the fading light with hurried strokes, her charcoal smudged at the tips of her fingers. The drawing was nothing special, just the same hills and trees she’d seen every day of her life. But tonight, it felt like she was saying goodbye.

“Clarke?” Her mother’s voice was quiet, but there was something in it that made Clarke set the charcoal down.

“In here,” she called, though she already knew. Something was coming. She’d felt it all day, like a storm pressing against her chest.

Abby Griffin entered the room with her hands folded in front of her, her mouth pressed into a tight line. She looked like she did before delivering bad news in the clinic—measured, calm, and already bracing for the fight.

“What is it?” Clarke asked, her back straightening. “Who’s sick?”

Abby sat on the edge of Clarke’s bed instead of answering. That was when Clarke knew: it wasn’t medical. It was worse.

“The Chancellor came by this afternoon,” Abby began. “He’s made a decision. One he believes will benefit Arkadia and secure our future among the Coalition.”

Clarke’s heart sank. “What does that have to do with me?”

Abby hesitated. “Lexa, Commander of the Thirteen Clans, has announced she is searching for a wife. A diplomatic match, to strengthen alliances. Each allied territory is sending someone. The Chancellor… has chosen you to represent Arkadia.”

The words hit Clarke like ice water. She stood abruptly, the stool beneath her toppling with a clatter. “No.”

“Clarke-”

“No, Mom. You can’t just tell me I’m being sent to be paraded in front of her like… like livestock.” Her voice cracked with disbelief and fury. “I’m not doing it.”

Abby’s eyes were full of something between sorrow and resolve. “You are doing it. It’s not just about you, Clarke. It’s about keeping peace. We’re already walking a thin line with the Commander. This is bigger than any one person.”

“I’m not a peace offering.” Clarke turned away, pacing now. Her fingers clenched into fists. “I’ve heard the stories about her. Lexa of the Woods Clan. Ruthless. Cold. People disappear in Polis and they don’t come back.”

“She’s not a monster,” Abby said gently. “And from what I’ve heard… she values strength. Intelligence. Honor.”

“Oh, great,” Clarke scoffed. “So maybe if I impress her, I’ll get the honor of marrying a warlord.”

Abby stood too, her tone shifting. “This isn’t something we have a choice in. The Chancellor has spoken. You leave for Polis at first light.”

Clarke turned to face her mother, eyes burning. “You agreed to this.”

“I tried to fight it,” Abby said quietly. “But I couldn’t. At least you won’t be alone. Raven and Octavia will go with you as your attendants. They’ll watch your back. Bellamy will go to protect you.”

Clarke sank down onto the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted. Her mind reeled with thoughts of Polis, of being forced to bow and smile and possibly wed someone she’d never met. Someone she didn’t trust. Someone she might never love.

“What if I say something wrong? What if she doesn’t like me?”

Abby knelt in front of her, reaching to cup Clarke’s face in her hands. “Then you come home. But you’re strong, Clarke. Stronger than you know. And this isn’t the end. It’s just the beginning of something we can’t see yet.”

Clarke didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

All she knew was that the life she’d built here—the sketches, the books, the long talks with Raven, the sword lessons with Octavia—would be gone by morning. And in its place would be the polished stone halls of Polis, and the cold, unreadable eyes of the Commander.

Lexa.

A stranger. A sovereign. A potential wife.

Clarke didn’t sleep that night.

—

The estate was silent by the time Clarke slipped out of her chambers, the hem of her cloak whispering against the stone floor. Candles had long since been extinguished, and the guards were light tonight—everyone trusting that a highborn daughter wouldn’t run. At least, not before dawn.

Clarke moved like a shadow, past the great hall, down the narrow servant stairs, and into the cool earth-scented dark of the wine cellar.

He was already there.

Finn stood leaning against the old wooden shelf where they used to meet when they were younger, back when their lives had seemed like their own. A single lantern flickered between them, painting his face in amber and shadow. He looked like he hadn’t slept either.

“You came,” he said quietly, not smiling.

Clarke stepped into the small circle of light, her breath tight in her chest. “Of course I came.”

Finn looked at her, really looked. “I thought maybe you wouldn’t. Maybe you’d already left.”

“You know I couldn’t do that.”

A silence stretched between them, familiar and aching.

“So it’s real,” he said. “You’re going to Polis.”

Clarke nodded, her jaw tight. “They’re sending me at dawn.”

Finn’s lips pressed into a thin line, like he wanted to protest but had already spent his outrage hours ago. “To the Commander. As a wife.”

“Contender,” Clarke corrected bitterly. “Not that it matters. It’s still a cage.”

He stepped forward then, reaching out to cup the side of her face. His touch was warm, grounding.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said, voice rough. “I’ve already lost too much.”

Clarke closed her eyes, leaning into the comfort for just a moment. “You won’t. I’ll come back. I swear it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” she said fiercely, gripping his wrist. “No matter what happens, no matter what they ask of me, I’ll find a way. I’ll come home.”

Finn studied her face, like he was trying to memorize every part of it. He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You could make a difference there, Clarke,” he said. “With her. With them. You’ve always been better at this than you think.”

“I’m not going there to make friends.”

“I know,” he said. “But maybe… maybe don’t close yourself off completely. This is an opportunity. One I’d take, if I were you.”

Her breath caught. “You’re letting me go.”

“I have to,” he said softly. “Because you’re meant for more than what I can give you. More than stolen nights and secret promises.”

Clarke felt the tears sting before she could stop them. She pulled him into a desperate kiss—quiet, lingering, and filled with everything they couldn’t say aloud.

When she pulled back, she whispered, “I’ll come back.”

Finn rested his forehead against hers. “Then go. Before I change my mind.”

Clarke turned away before he could see her fall apart.

By the time she reached her chambers again, the horizon was already starting to pale.

Tomorrow, the road to Polis would open.

—

The sun had barely crested the hills when the estate courtyard came alive with quiet motion. The rover stood at the center, weathered from years of use, but strong and ready. Supplies were being tied down in the back, saddle packs and trunks filled with everything Clarke might need for her uncertain stay in Polis: gowns she hadn’t picked, scrolls she hadn’t read, and a future she hadn’t asked for.

Clarke fastened the last leather strap on a chest and stepped back, wiping her hands on her cloak. Raven was perched on the rear bumper, tightening a panel with a wrench, her dark eyes flicking over Clarke without a word. Octavia, already dressed in her leathers, was strapping a long dagger to her thigh.

“I still think you should’ve let me sneak a knife into your boots,” Octavia muttered, checking the tension on the strap. “Just in case that Commander gets any ideas.”

“Abby already checked my boots twice,” Clarke replied with a dry smile. “She knows me too well.”

“She doesn’t know me,” Octavia smirked, pulling another blade from her belt. “So I packed a few extras.”

Bellamy sat in the driver’s seat, arms crossed, watching the exchange with a careful eye. He said nothing, but his jaw was tight, like he was biting down every opinion he had about this entire mission.

Clarke was grateful. She didn’t have the strength to argue again.

Footsteps approached from behind, and Clarke turned to see her mother crossing the courtyard, her cloak wrapped tightly against the morning chill. Abby’s face was drawn, but calm. She stopped just in front of Clarke, taking her in with a thousand thoughts behind her eyes.

“I thought I’d say goodbye before you disappeared on me,” she said.

Clarke’s throat tightened. “You already said everything last night.”

Abby shook her head, brushing a hand against Clarke’s cheek before pressing a kiss to her temple. “Not everything.”

She pulled back, eyes shining. “You’re doing something brave, Clarke. Bigger than any of us. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but someday you’ll look back and see the difference you made.”

“I’m not trying to make a difference,” Clarke said softly. “I’m just trying to survive it.”

Abby smiled, sad but proud. “Then survive. And do good, where you can. That’s all I ask.”

Clarke nodded, her heart a knot she couldn’t untangle. “I’ll try.”

Abby stepped back, hands falling to her sides, not quite ready to let go. But she did. “I’ll be waiting.”

Clarke climbed into the backseat beside Octavia, the door creaking as she shut it behind her. Raven tossed her wrench into a pack and slid in next to her.

Bellamy glanced back once, just long enough to meet Clarke’s eyes. “Ready?”

No. But she said, “Drive.”

The engine roared to life, and the gravel cracked beneath the tires as the rover rolled forward, away from the estate, away from the only life Clarke had ever known.

The morning sun warmed the sky in golds and reds, and the road stretched ahead—toward Polis, toward the Commander, toward everything that waited in silence.

Clarke didn’t look back. Not because she wasn’t scared.

But because if she did, she might not be able to keep going.

—

The forest blurred past in greens and browns, the road winding like a ribbon through the trees. Eight hours from Arkadia to Polis, and they were only halfway there.

The rover rumbled steadily along the cracked old path, Bellamy’s hands firm on the wheel, his silence serving as a wall between the front and back seats. Every so often, he would glance into the rearview mirror, but he never joined the conversation.

In the back, Clarke had her boots up on a crate, arms folded across her chest, the wind tugging loose strands of hair from her braid. Raven was beside her, fiddling with a small piece of tech she’d yanked from the dashboard hours ago—either out of boredom or disdain.

Octavia leaned forward between them, her voice rising above the hum of the engine.

“I’m just saying,” she said, gesturing animatedly with one hand. “You’re acting like this is a funeral. You’re not marching to your death, Clarke. You’re walking into the most powerful seat in the Coalition. That’s not a curse, it’s an opportunity.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “An opportunity to be paraded in front of someone who could kill me with one word.”

Octavia raised an eyebrow. “And you don’t think you can handle her?”

“I didn’t say that.” Clarke’s jaw tightened. “But I’m not exactly thrilled about the whole auctioned-off-to-a-warlord part.”

“She’s not a warlord,” Octavia said.

“She literally commands an army,” Raven muttered without looking up from the circuit in her lap. “Wears war paint. Gives death glares. I’m with Clarke. This is nonsense.”

Octavia huffed. “You two are so dramatic.”

“No, we’re realistic,” Raven shot back. “This isn’t a storybook. It’s politics. Brutal, manipulative politics. Clarke gets chosen, she’s tied to Polis for life. She doesn’t get chosen, and who knows what happens back home. Either way, Arkadia wins. We lose.”

Clarke stayed quiet, staring out at the forest. It was easier than answering. Easier than admitting she didn’t know which outcome terrified her more.

Octavia sat back with a sigh. “I’m not saying it’s fair. But it’s happening. And if it has to happen, I’d rather it be you than someone who can’t hold their own.”

Clarke glanced at her. “Thanks?”

“It was a compliment,” Octavia said, smirking. “Backhanded, maybe.”

“I just don’t want to play dress-up for a leader who might have my head chopped off if I use the wrong fork.”

“She’s not going to kill you over cutlery,” Raven said. “Probably.”

Clarke shot her a look. “Comforting.”

Raven grinned. “That’s what I’m here for.”

They fell into silence again, but this one felt lighter, edged with the familiarity of shared sarcasm and old loyalty. Clarke let her head rest against the window, watching the sun slant through the trees.

Polis still felt like a looming shadow in the distance. But with Raven and Octavia beside her, and Bellamy driving like he intended to outrun the end of the world, she could almost forget, for a moment, that she was heading straight into the center of it.

Almost. 

Chapter 2: Two

The gates of Polis rose like a jagged crown above the trees, towering stone walls carved with ancient runes and draped in green banners. Clarke pressed a hand to the window as the rover slowed to a stop, her chest tightening at the sight. From here, the capital looked like a city carved into a mountain—impenetrable, immovable, and far too real.

Raven gave a low whistle. “Subtle.”

Octavia leaned forward, eyes alight. “It’s beautiful.”

Clarke didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure what she felt, only that it was loud and full of knots.

Bellamy cut the engine, the sudden silence ringing in Clarke’s ears.

Outside, a small contingent of guards waited, dressed in deep forest leathers and adorned with sigils of the Coalition. At their head stood a woman with short-cropped dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and the air of someone who did not tolerate nonsense. Her eyes scanned the rover with soldier’s precision before she stepped forward and opened the rear door herself.

“Clarke kom Arkadia,” the woman said evenly, offering a hand.

Clarke hesitated before taking it, allowing herself to be helped down onto the stone road. Raven and Octavia climbed out behind her, weapons carefully sheathed and expressions wary.

The woman offered a short, respectful bow.

“I am Anya, First of the Commander’s personal guard. I have been assigned to escort you during your time in Polis.”

Clarke nodded, unsure if she was supposed to bow in return or just thank her. She settled for a stiff, “Thank you.”

Anya’s eyes flicked to Raven and Octavia. “Your attendants will be given quarters in the guest wing, near your own. You’ll have the freedom to move within the inner walls, but you are not to leave the grounds without permission.”

“Understood,” Clarke said, her voice cool.

Anya continued, motioning toward the stone steps that led deeper into the city. “You will have your first personal audience with Heda tomorrow morning. She has asked to share breakfast with you.”

Clarke’s brows rose. “Breakfast?”

“The Commander prefers to conduct first meetings without formality,” Anya said. “She will explain the selection process and answer your questions.”

“So, she’s skipping the royal drama,” Raven murmured behind Clarke. “Points for that.”

Anya didn’t react to the comment. “For now, you’ll be shown to your quarters. Rest. Eat. The capital can be… overwhelming at first.”

Clarke looked past her to the high walls and endless staircases, the narrow windows and the glimpses of movement above—watchers on every level.

Overwhelming didn’t begin to cover it.

But she nodded. “Lead the way.”

Anya turned and started up the steps, guards falling into formation. Clarke followed, Raven and Octavia close behind, each step echoing like a drumbeat in her ears.

Polis had opened its gates and tomorrow, she would meet the Commander.

—

The first thing Clarke heard was the rustle of fabric.

Then, soft footsteps. A whispered curse. Something clattering to the floor.

“Raven,” Octavia hissed. “You’re going to wake her.”

“Good,” Raven muttered. “She’s got ten minutes before Anya storms in here with a spear.”

Clarke groaned and rolled over, dragging a pillow over her face. “What time is it?”

“Time to get up,” Octavia answered cheerfully. “The Commander’s expecting you for breakfast, remember?”

Clarke groaned louder. “Unfortunately.”

She heard the sound of a trunk unlatching and the soft shuffle of clothing being laid out. A moment later, the pillow was yanked from her face.

“Up,” Raven said, standing over her with a brush in one hand and a scowl in the other. “This is not a negotiation.”

Clarke sat up slowly, blinking against the early light pouring in through the narrow window of her guest quarters. Polis in the daylight looked even more ancient—worn stone walls, green ivy creeping through every crack, and the constant hum of activity outside.

Octavia held up a dress, blue silk, simple but elegant, sleeveless with delicate embroidery along the hem. It looked light, flowing, and entirely too formal.

Clarke frowned. “That’s not mine.”

“It is today,” Octavia said. “Anya sent it. She said it’s traditional for guests of status to wear Coalition colors for their first audience. This shade of blue is worn by diplomats.”

“I’m not a diplomat,” Clarke said flatly.

“You are now,” Raven replied, already yanking her toward the washbasin.

“I hate all of this,” Clarke muttered as she splashed her face.

Raven handed her a towel. “We know. You’ve made it very clear.”

“I just think it’s ironic that I’m being forced into silk and civility by a warrior society.”

Octavia shrugged. “Warrior doesn’t mean savage. Besides, you look good in silk.”

Clarke gave her a glare, but Octavia only smirked and moved to help Raven with her hair. Between the two of them, Clarke was seated, combed, braided, and pinned within minutes—her hair pulled back in an elegant half-crown that was both beautiful and purposeful.

“There,” Raven said, stepping back. “You’re officially a walking peace treaty.”

Clarke stood and looked at herself in the mirror. The silk flowed like water when she moved, catching the light with every step. She looked… regal. Controlled.

Nothing like herself.

But still, she lifted her chin. “Let’s get this over with.”

Octavia handed her a cloak trimmed in silver and said with a grin, “Don’t stab her unless she stabs first.”

“No promises,” Clarke muttered.

Just then, a knock echoed through the door—two short raps, followed by silence.

Anya.

Clarke exhaled once, steadying herself. Raven placed a hand briefly on her shoulder, grounding her. Octavia nodded.

She turned toward the door and opened it.

The meeting awaited.

And behind it… Lexa.

—

The dining hall was quiet—too quiet.

Lexa sat at the head of a long, polished wooden table, one hand curled loosely around a carved cup of tea that had long since gone cold. The early light filtered through the tall windows, casting fractured beams across the stone floor and the banners of the 13 clans that hung above her like judging eyes.

She had been waiting for fifteen minutes.

Titus hovered by the far archway, as still and unreadable as ever. He had offered no commentary on the delay, but Lexa didn’t need his words to hear the unspoken disapproval lingering in the space between them.

This entire process was his doing, after all.

Lexa shifted in her seat, fingers tapping once, just once, against the rim of the cup before stilling again.

She had already met with the other contenders: Daughters of noble houses from the Desert, from the Ice Nation, from Azgeda, even one from Trishanakru who couldn’t stop talking about flax and flood management. All of them came with carefully rehearsed words, eyes half-glazed with fear or ambition. All of them paraded like finely dressed solutions to a problem Lexa didn’t believe existed.

As if a political marriage would solidify what her sword had already won.

As if she needed to share power to maintain it.

Lexa’s jaw clenched.

She was done playing gracious host to young women dressed in silk and desperation.

Except one.

The last to arrive. The Skaikru girl.

Clarke kom Arkadia.

A diplomat’s daughter, Titus had told her. Highborn. Educated. Not trained for war, but skilled with words. Sharp, he’d said, with a faint gleam of hope in his eyes. Stubborn.

As if that were a compliment.

Lexa had no patience left for stubborn strangers.

This entire ceremony, breakfast and conversation and performance, felt like a waste of her time. Her people needed leadership, not theatrics. She needed strategy, not sentiment. But Titus had insisted, and for once, Lexa had allowed herself to bend. Not because she agreed, but because she had far greater battles to fight than a roster of potential wives.

Still.

Her patience, like the tea in her cup, was quickly cooling.

Lexa sat straighter, her gaze flicking toward the door as the faint sound of footsteps echoed from down the hall.

Finally.

She took a breath and let her face settle into calm neutrality. The Commander of the Thirteen Clans did not fidget. Did not sigh. Did not show irritation.

Especially not before an audience.

Even one she had no intention of choosing.

The doors opened with a soft groan of wood and iron.

Lexa glanced up, fully prepared to greet another delicate stranger wrapped in silk and duty—prepared to endure, to dismiss, and to be done with this once and for all.

But then Clarke walked in.

And something shifted.

She was nothing like the others.

She wore the dress, yes, the blue silk dipped in silver, simple and elegant, tailored to fit without excess. But there was a stiffness in her shoulders, a resistance in every step that no amount of fabric could soften. Her hair was intricately braided in the style of her people, but not one detail looked self-chosen. She moved like someone being led to trial, not like a girl hoping to wear a crown.

Lexa didn’t stand. Didn’t speak.

She simply watched.

Clarke stopped a few feet from the table and bowed—not deep, but respectful, practiced.

“Commander,” she said, her voice steady and low.

She did not lift her gaze.

Lexa’s eyes narrowed, curious despite herself. There was something strange in that deference, not fear, not awe. It felt more like… restraint. As if the girl had bottled every ounce of fire and swallowed it whole before walking through the door.

“You may sit,” Lexa said, voice calm and clipped.

Clarke obeyed, gliding into the chair across from her. She still hadn’t looked up.

For a moment, Lexa said nothing.

She let the silence stretch, studying this new contender who seemed so determined not to speak. Most would have filled the quiet with flattery or questions or nerves disguised as politeness. Clarke kom Arkadia sat still, hands folded, eyes on the table, jaw locked as if biting back every opinion she had brought with her.

Lexa took another sip of her cold tea, setting the cup down softly.

“You are not what I expected,” she said.

That earned the smallest reaction—a flicker of blue eyes lifting briefly to meet hers, sharp and bright before dropping again.

“I doubt I’m what anyone expects,” Clarke replied, her tone dry.

Lexa almost smiled.

Almost.

She leaned back in her chair, letting herself look openly now. The girl was objectively beautiful. Probably the most beautiful of them all. But it wasn’t just her looks that struck Lexa. It was her silence. Her stillness. Like she was deciding, every second, whether this was a game worth playing.

Lexa knew that look.

She’d worn it herself, once.

“This is not a test,” Lexa said finally. “You do not need to impress me.”

Clarke gave a slow blink. “Noted.”

Another pause. Then:

“We will eat,” Lexa said, nodding toward the attendants waiting along the wall. “And then I will explain what comes next.”

Clarke nodded wordlessly, the faintest edge of tension still clinging to her like armor.

They ate in silence.

The table was set with precision—bowls of fruit, warm flatbread, smoked meats, soft cheese, and tea refilled by silent attendants. Clarke took small bites, careful and measured, never reaching for more than she needed. Lexa noted it, as she noted everything.

No one had spoken since the moment food had been served.

Lexa didn’t mind silence. In fact, she often preferred it. Words could be weapons, yes, but they could also be distractions. And yet—this silence carried something heavy, something pointed. Clarke wasn’t being quiet out of respect or caution.

She was being quiet on purpose.

When they were done, the attendants cleared the table, and Lexa finally folded her hands neatly in front of her, her expression calm and unreadable.

“As is custom, the courtship period will last two months,” she began. “In that time, each contender will meet with me twice per week. Once in the morning, once at night. The schedule will rotate according to my obligations.”

Clarke nodded, her chin barely moving.

“You will be notified of your assigned days in advance,” Lexa continued. “Meetings will take the form of conversation, observation, or in some cases, tasks relevant to life as ruler. You are free to explore the capital during your stay, within reason. It is my understanding you arrived with a guard.”

Clarke nodded again. “Bellamy.”

“Then she may accompany you. You are not a prisoner here, Clarke kom Arkadia. But you are expected to respect the rules of Polis and the duties of this process.”

Another nod. Another tight-lipped, wordless reply.

Lexa exhaled softly through her nose and leaned back.

She had spoken more words in the last five minutes than Clarke had since entering the room.

This was growing tedious.

She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You clearly don’t want to be here.”

Clarke’s fingers stilled on the fabric of her dress. But still, she said nothing.

Lexa pressed, tone sharper now, less formal. “Then why are you?”

And finally—finally—Clarke looked up.

Their eyes locked across the table, and for the first time, Lexa saw her.

Not the quiet, controlled girl who’d bowed at the door. Not the silk-wrapped diplomat sent like a gift on behalf of her people.

But a storm.

The blue of Clarke’s eyes was layered—bright and cold at the surface, but hiding something deeper underneath: heat, resistance, fury. There was steel in the set of her jaw, defiance wrapped in royal silk. Her face gave nothing away, but her eyes. They said everything.

“Because I didn’t have a choice,” Clarke said, voice low and clipped. “I was sent. Like everyone else.”

Lexa studied her, silence falling between them again.

But this time, it felt different. Heavier. Real.

She almost admired the honesty. Almost.

Instead, she simply replied, “Then let us not waste each other’s time.”

Clarke didn’t answer.

But this time, she didn’t look away either.

Her eyes held the Commander’s, and for the first time, Clarke allowed herself to look—not just as a diplomat, not as a girl brought for inspection, but as herself.

Lexa’s eyes were green, dark and expressive despite her controlled exterior, eyes that missed nothing. Her posture was strong, grounded, but there was a quiet grace in the way she moved, the sharp cut of her jaw, the curve of her mouth. She was lean, muscled, built like someone who’d never known comfort without cost. The black armor that draped over her shoulders seemed both ceremonial and earned. And that hair. Long, chestnut, tied back into precise braids, not a strand out of place.

Clarke had expected a brute. Or a ghost in warpaint. A shadow of the stories whispered in Arkadia.

She hadn’t expected this.

Lexa kom Trikru was beautiful. And somehow, that only made Clarke trust her less.

—

The heavy doors to her quarters creaked open, and Clarke stepped inside with a long breath, the tension in her shoulders finally beginning to release.

Raven and Octavia were already waiting, pacing, sitting, then standing again as soon as they heard the latch click.

“Well?” Octavia asked immediately, eyes wide. “What happened? Was she terrifying? Did she talk to you? Was there food?”

Raven cut in, crossing her arms. “Did she give you the ‘you will respect my authority’ speech, or was it more like mysterious warlord charm?”

Clarke blinked, barely halfway into the room.

“She said good morning first,” she deadpanned. “Then we had some bread.”

“Bread?” Raven repeated, unimpressed.

“Very diplomatic,” Octavia added with a teasing smile.

Clarke rolled her eyes and shrugged off the cloak, tossing it across the back of a nearby chair. “It was fine. Formal. Awkward. She barely said anything until the end. Gave me the schedule, told me I could walk around the city if you came with me. That’s it.”

Octavia’s eyes narrowed playfully. “That’s not it. What was she like?”

Clarke hesitated at that, moving toward the washbasin and dabbing cool water onto the back of her neck. She stared at her reflection in the polished metal for a moment longer than necessary.

“She’s… composed,” Clarke said finally. “Young. Probably close to our age. Quiet, but you can feel everything she’s not saying.”

Raven cocked her head. “So, terrifying.”

Clarke gave a faint smile. “No. Not exactly. She’s just controlled. Calculated. Like she doesn’t waste energy on pretending.”

Octavia raised a brow. “Pretty?”

Clarke shot her a look. “That’s not relevant.”

“So she is,” Raven muttered with a grin.

Clarke didn’t answer.

Octavia stepped closer, eyes a little more serious now. “Did she say anything about choosing someone? Or what happens if she doesn’t?”

“She didn’t say much of anything beyond the plan.” Clarke sat on the edge of the bed, finally letting the weight of the morning settle. “Two months of this. Twice a week. Mornings or nights.”

Raven whistled. “Sounds intimate.”

“Sounds exhausting,” Clarke corrected. She dropped her head into her hands for a second before adding, “She asked me why I was here.”

Both Raven and Octavia went quiet.

“What did you say?” Octavia asked softly.

Clarke looked up, eyes tired but steady. “The truth. That I didn’t have a choice.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then Raven exhaled and flopped down beside her.

“Well, that ought to win you some points.”

Clarke snorted. “If she was looking for honesty, maybe.”

Clarke leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. “If I make it that far.”

“You will,” Raven said, nudging her. “You always do.”

Clarke closed her eyes, letting the voices of the people she trusted most fill the silence the Commander had left behind.

For now, it was enough.

—

The council chamber was dimly lit, the tall torches burning low with a faint scent of pine smoke curling into the stonework. Lexa stood at the wide, carved table that marked the center of all official briefings, hands clasped behind her back, her focus on the map spread before her.

She didn’t look up when Titus entered.

He waited, as always, until she acknowledged him.

“Titus,” she said quietly.

“Commander,” he answered, bowing his head. “I trust your meeting with the Skaikru girl went… productively?”

Lexa’s mouth twitched, barely noticeable. “It was informative.”

Titus moved to stand beside her, folding his hands in front of him like a priest at confession. “You will be expected to make the first round of eliminations by week’s end. Have you made any decisions?”

Lexa’s eyes remained fixed on the table for a moment longer before she finally straightened.

“Yes,” she said. “Ontari of Azgeda will be the first to go.”

Titus blinked, surprised. “So soon? Azgeda will not take the slight lightly.”

“Good,” Lexa said flatly. “Let them take it as truth. Their intentions were never honorable.”

“She is of noble blood.”

“She is a weapon sent in silk,” Lexa replied. “Azgeda sees this courtship as an opportunity to install a spy within the Coalition’s inner walls. I will not wed a dagger pointed at my back.”

Titus was silent for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “The Ice Nation is bold, yes. But she is a skilled warrior. Her loyalty could—”

“She has no loyalty to me,” Lexa interrupted, tone like stone. “Only to her queen.”

Titus didn’t argue further.

Lexa turned away from the map and moved toward the narrow window that overlooked the outer courtyard of Polis. Her arms folded across her chest as she gazed into the distance, where the spires of the capital stretched toward the clouded sky.

“What of the others?” Titus asked behind her. “Do any of them interest you?”

Lexa was quiet for a beat too long.

Finally, she said, “The girl from Trishanakru is more interested in soil than statecraft. The Floukru daughter hasn’t looked me in the eye once. And the twin from Sankru asked if I liked poetry more than politics.”

“And Skaikru?”

Lexa didn’t answer right away.

“She’s angry,” she said eventually. “Unwilling. But sharp. She speaks with her silence.”

Titus lifted his brow. “You sound intrigued.”

“I’m not,” Lexa replied, though the words lacked heat. “She doesn’t want to be here. That makes her dangerous in a different way.”

“And yet, you didn’t dismiss her outright.”

“I don’t dismiss what I don’t yet understand.”

Titus gave a soft, almost approving hum. “You’re thinking beyond the ceremony. That is good.”

Lexa didn’t reply.

Because even she didn’t fully understand why she hadn’t shut the door on Clarke kom Skaikru the way she had Ontari.

She only knew that something about the girl’s presence lingered—quiet but unyielding.

Like a wound just beneath the surface, not yet bleeding… but waiting.

Chapter 3: Three

Polis was louder than Clarke expected.

The capital buzzed with color and movement, vendors shouting in Trigedasleng, laughter spilling from upper balconies, the clink of iron against iron as workers hammered out steel behind stone archways. It felt old and alive, like something that had grown up from the ground itself rather than been built. Today was her first outting with Lexa  

Clarke stayed quiet as she walked beside the Commander, her head slightly bowed. Not in deference, exactly but in self-preservation. She wasn’t ready to meet the eyes watching her from every corner, wasn’t ready to be the foreign girl who might become the Commander’s bride.

She just wanted to breathe.

Lexa walked a step ahead, silent but aware. Every few minutes, she’d point something out: an old statue carved from black stone, a temple with wind-chimes hanging in the windows, a fruit vendor famous for his fire-apples.

Clarke gave polite nods, murmured a few responses. She kept her tone neutral, her movements slow. Let them watch, she thought. Just don’t let them see.

They turned down a quieter alley that opened into a small square lined with stoneworkers and blacksmiths. Weapons glittered beneath the midday sun. Rows of blades, spears, and curved daggers, all meticulously crafted.

Clarke stopped at one of the masonry stalls, her eyes drawn to a slim sword with a braided hilt and soft black engravings along its spine. It wasn’t delicate, but it was beautiful in its own way. Balanced. Clean.

She reached toward it, letting her fingers hover just above the steel.

Lexa’s voice broke the silence beside her, dry with amusement. “Planning to lead a rebellion already?”

Clarke didn’t look at her, but the corner of her mouth lifted faintly. “Only if it comes to that.”

Lexa gave a quiet chuckle. “Do you even know how to wield one of those?”

Clarke glanced sideways at her, finally letting a bit of sharpness into her voice. “My father didn’t raise me to be helpless. He gave me music and books but also combat drills and hand-to-hand training. I’m pretty handy with a sword.”

Lexa blinked, visibly surprised. “Truly?”

Clarke nodded, her gaze returning to the weapon. “I was born when Skaikru and the clans could barely speak without someone bleeding. My father thought… if peace failed, I should at least be able to defend myself.”

Lexa was quiet for a moment, her expression unreadable.

“Your people don’t often prepare their daughters that way,” she said eventually.

Clarke shrugged. “Maybe they should.”

Lexa studied her. Not just her words, but the weight behind them. There was no bravado in Clarke’s voice. No posturing. Just history. And maybe a warning.

“I’d like to see that,” Lexa said quietly.

Clarke finally turned to face her fully, brows raised. “What? Me with a sword?”

Lexa’s lips quirked. “Yes.”

Clarke smiled. Small, but real.

“Careful what you wish for, Heda.”

Lexa didn’t reply. But the look in her eyes lingered a moment longer than it needed to. 

—

Clarke pushed open the door to her chamber and froze.

On her bed, laid neatly across the deep green sheets, were several items—a soft cloth bundle of books, tied with twine, and beside it, wrapped carefully in dark leather, was the sword from the market.

Her breath caught for just a moment.

She stepped forward slowly, brows drawn, her fingers brushing over the spine of the top book. A few of the titles were familiar. Classic works from Arkadia’s limited archives but others were hand-bound volumes she didn’t recognize, written in Trigedasleng. She picked one up, carefully flipping through the aged pages. A novel, maybe. Or history. The language flowed like riverwater, smoother than she’d ever seen it written.

But it was the sword that pulled her attention back.

Clarke unwrapped the leather gently, fingers working open the soft cords to reveal the polished hilt and etched steel beneath. The same blade she’d admired hours earlier. It felt… heavier than she remembered. And yet perfect in her grip.

She held it up, turning it slowly so the light from the window caught the etched pattern along the blade’s edge. It was beautiful. Real.

A gift. From Lexa.

Clarke let out a breath, quiet and disbelieving.

Lexa had trusted her. With steel, no less. A weapon inside her own walls. Clarke knew the unspoken statement behind that. I do not fear you.

She knew the truth of it too, I am not a threat to her. Not even close. Her father had taught her the basics, yes, but Lexa had been raised by war. She wasn’t a girl who knew of violence. She was someone who had survived it.

Still… this meant something.

A small smile tugged at Clarke’s lips as she ran her thumb over the engraving.

“Okay, what the hell is that?”

Clarke turned, startled, just as Raven walked in. Her eyes locked on the sword immediately, widening with disbelief.

Raven shut the door behind her. “Please tell me that’s not what it looks like.”

Clarke blinked. “If it looks like the Commander gifted me a weapon, then yeah… it is.”

Raven stepped closer, eyes scanning the blade with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “She gave you this? Just like that?”

Clarke shrugged, still holding it carefully. “I think she noticed I wasn’t just playing the part today.”

Raven stared at her, then at the sword, then back at Clarke again. “Okay, so… what now? You gonna challenge her to a duel?”

Clarke let out a quiet laugh. “Hardly.”

Raven raised a brow. “Well, try not to stab anyone unless you’re sure it’s worth the fallout.”

Clarke gently placed the sword back on the bed, her hand lingering on the hilt.

“I’m not here to fight,” she said, almost to herself.

But the part she didn’t say lingered in the room like a shadow.

Still… it feels good to be seen as someone who could.

—

The Polis sun had started to dip, casting long golden streaks across the stone floors of Clarke’s chamber. She sat at her writing desk, one of the new books open in front of her, though her eyes hadn’t moved across the same page in over ten minutes.

It was nearing the end of the first week.

Which meant decisions. Elimination.

She tried not to care. But really, she did. But her fingers were curled too tightly around the corner of the page, and she kept glancing toward the door.

When it finally creaked open, Raven stepped through, her boots heavy on the floor and her expression unreadable.

Clarke sat up. “Well?”

Raven leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. “You’re still in.”

Clarke blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. You weren’t cut.” Raven walked further in, kicking the door closed behind her. “But Azgeda and Floukru weren’t so lucky.”

Octavia, who had been lounging on the edge of the bed sharpening a blade, sat up straighter. “Azgeda’s out?”

“Ontari,” Raven confirmed, a smirk tugging at the edge of her mouth. “Stormed out of the temple halls apparently. Real dramatic exit.”

Clarke’s brows pulled together. “I… didn’t expect to still be here.”

Octavia grinned, tossing her whetstone aside. “Maybe she likes you.”

Clarke scoffed. “She doesn’t even know me.”

“Yeah, but she’s watching,” Octavia said, shrugging. “Maybe she likes your guts.”

Raven flopped into the chair across from Clarke and stretched out her legs. “Or maybe Lexa’s just playing it smart. Azgeda’s been poking the bear for months, sending a candidate was a power move. Lexa rejecting them first sends a clear message.”

“Floukru?” Clarke asked.

“Probably collateral,” Raven replied. “They follow tides, not thrones.”

Clarke leaned back in her chair, heart still slightly pounding, unsure whether from nerves… or something else.

“She still sees me as a contender,” she murmured.

“Or a threat,” Raven said, only half-joking.

Clarke looked at the sword resting by her bed.

“No,” she said quietly. “If she saw me as a threat… I wouldn’t still have that.”

Octavia watched her carefully, then smirked. “Well. Round one survived, Princess.”

Clarke said nothing.

But deep down, a question lingered:

Why am I still here?

—

The room was dark, the air still and heavy. Clarke lay tangled in the sheets, drifting between sleep and wakefulness. The low creak of the floorboards pulled her closer to consciousness, but she didn’t move. Probably Raven. Or maybe Octavia.

Then silence again.

Then breath. Hot, ragged and too close.

A chill ran down Clarke’s spine as she slowly opened her eyes.

A blade glinted inches from her throat, the cold kiss of steel pressing into the soft skin just below her jawline. Ontari stood above her, eyes wild, mouth twisted with venom.

Clarke froze.

“Don’t scream,” Ontari hissed.

Clarke’s heart thundered against her ribs. Her body refused to move, every instinct screaming danger.

Ontari leaned closer, the knife steady in her grasp. “You’re a threat to Azgeda. A threat to the Coalition. You shouldn’t be here.”

Clarke swallowed carefully, the blade digging a little deeper. “I didn’t ask to be here.”

“No,” Ontari said with a bitter sneer. “But you stayed. And she saw you. That’s enough.”

Panic clawed at Clarke’s throat, but something else stirred beneath it. Something colder. Sharper.

Her eyes flicked sideways, just a fraction.

The sword. Lying beside her on the bed where she’d placed it earlier that evening.

Ontari kept ranting. “Say hello to your father when you see him,” she whispered, lips brushing Clarke’s ear like a final curse.

Clarke moved.

Slowly, with aching precision, her fingers slid beneath the blanket, wrapping around the hilt. Her pulse roared in her ears as her grip tightened.

Then swiftly, before Ontari could blink, Clarke surged upward, swinging the handle of the sword hard into Ontari’s ribs.

The Azgeda warrior let out a startled grunt as she stumbled back, crashing to the floor.

Clarke didn’t hesitate.

She was on her feet in an instant, eyes blazing, the sword leveled and pointed directly at Ontari’s chest.

“Move and I won’t hesitate.”

Ontari stared up at her, breathing hard, hands raised in reluctant surrender. The madness still danced behind her eyes, but there was a flicker of surprise too. Surprise that the girl she thought was weak had struck first.

Clarke’s voice rang out, clear and commanding. “Guards!”

The door burst open moments later, Octavia at the front in half-sleeping leathers, followed by two of Lexa’s personal sentries with weapons drawn.

Clarke didn’t look away from Ontari. “She tried to kill me.”

The guards surged forward, seizing Ontari roughly by the arms. She spat something vile in Trigedasleng, struggling as they dragged her toward the door.

Clarke stood firm, sword still in hand, chest rising and falling with adrenaline. As Ontari was yanked into the hall, she shouted one final warning over her shoulder:

“This won’t save you, Skaikru!”

The door slammed shut behind her, and silence fell again.

Octavia stared at Clarke, eyes wide with a mix of fear and awe. “You okay?”

Clarke nodded slowly, her fingers loosening around the hilt. “Yeah.”

She exhaled shakily.

It had barely been five minutes since Ontari was dragged away, her shrieks echoing down the hall, when another knock sounded at the chamber door. Sharper this time, but not unkind.

Clarke turned, still holding the sword loosely in one hand, and then the door pushed open.

Lexa stood there.

No armor. No war paint. Just a soft, midnight-blue tunic and loose linen pants, her chestnut hair braided back in sleep-worn strands. The usual sharpness in her eyes was dulled by fatigue, but not enough to mask the concern written across her face.

Clarke blinked, stunned into silence.

Lexa crossed the room quickly, her eyes scanning Clarke from head to toe, searching for blood, injury, anything.

“You’re not hurt?” she asked, her voice low and rough from sleep.

Clarke shook her head. “No. Just… a scratch.”

Lexa exhaled, her jaw tight. “She will be punished. Severely.”

“I thought she was gone,” Clarke said quietly. “I didn’t think she could get back in.”

“She shouldn’t have,” Lexa agreed. “I don’t know how she slipped past the rotation… or how Octavia got to you first.” A pause. “But I promise, that won’t happen again.”

Clarke nodded, then glanced at the sword still in her hand, the blade glinting under the lantern light.

“I guess I should say thank you,” she said softly, lifting the hilt slightly. “For this.”

Lexa’s eyes followed the motion, then flicked back up to meet Clarke’s.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I’m glad it served its purpose.”

There was something about the way she said it, soft and genuine. Maybe even a little amused, that made Clarke pause.

She should’ve looked smug. Self-satisfied. I knew you’d need it. But there was none of that. Just a quiet steadiness, as if this was exactly the outcome Lexa had expected all along.

Clarke tilted her head, something shifting behind her eyes. “You gave me a weapon. Knowing I could’ve used it against you.”

Lexa’s smile barely deepened. “I didn’t think you would.”

“And if I had?”

Lexa didn’t flinch. “Then I would’ve been wrong.”

Clarke didn’t know what to say to that. The sword suddenly felt heavier in her grip.

After a moment, Lexa stepped back, giving her space. “Extra guards will be stationed outside your chambers for the rest of your stay. You’ll be safe.”

Clarke nodded again, unsure why she felt… unsettled.

Lexa turned toward the door, her expression composed again. “Rest well, Clarke.”

She paused in the doorway, her hand hovering on the frame. For just a breath, she looked back.

“I’m glad you’re alright.”

And then she was gone.

Clarke stood in silence, the room suddenly too quiet around her.

She looked down at the blade, then toward the door where Lexa had just disappeared.

What the hell is she doing to me?

Chapter 4: Four

Notes:

Wow, thank you guys for all the support. Here’s chapter 4 <3

Clarke stepped into her chambers, the soft light of late afternoon filtering through the tall windows. Octavia stood just inside the door, arms folded, alert and unreadable.

“Come in,” Octavia said quietly, stepping aside.

Clarke crossed the room and paused near the window. Her eyes widened in surprise.

An easel stood nearby, holding a blank canvas. A small table beside it bore a neat arrangement of paints, brushes, and water jars. The couch was draped with a soft blanket, inviting and warm.

Clarke’s lips twitched into a small smile. 

Octavia smirked slightly. “I told Lexa you like to paint.”

Clarke blinked, then asked, “You told her?”

Octavia nodded. “Yeah. Figured she should know what you enjoy.”

At that moment, the door opened quietly, and Lexa entered, her expression calm but attentive.

“I wanted to understand what makes you… calm,” Lexa said simply. 

Clarke glanced at the paints and brushes thoughtfully. “Yeah. Painting’s easier than talking sometimes.”

Lexa’s eyes flicked to the canvas. “Show me.”

Clarke picked up a brush, dipping it into a vibrant blue. “If you want.”

Lexa watched Clarke pick up a brush, the vibrant blue pooling on the palette.

“What do you like to paint?” Lexa asked, voice quiet but curious.

Clarke paused, eyes distant as if recalling something beyond the room. “Landscapes, mostly. Places I’ve seen, or places I want to see.”

Lexa raised an eyebrow. “You want to explore?”

Clarke nodded. “See more of the world, capture it before it changes. And… on rare occasions, I paint people.”

Lexa’s gaze lingered on Clarke’s profile. “People?”

Clarke gave a small, almost shy smile. “Faces that stay with me. Moments I want to remember.”

Lexa considered her words, the soft glow of the setting sun catching the strands of her braids. “I didn’t expect that.”

Clarke shrugged, dipping her brush into a new color. “Most don’t.”

Lexa’s eyes traced the fading light as it spilled through the tall windows, then shifted to Clarke with a quiet curiosity. “How are you liking Polis?” she asked, her voice low, steady.

Clarke hesitated, then glanced outside, watching the city’s busy streets teeming with life. The constant movement, the hum of many voices, the blend of old stone and new lantern light. “It’s beautiful,” she admitted, “but it’s also… overwhelming. So busy, so full of people. I’m not used to that many faces at once.”

She turned back to Lexa, her fingers unconsciously tracing the edge of the canvas. “But what I really like,” she continued, “is how you can see the different cultures of the clans here. The way the people wear their hair. The braids, the knots, the colors. Their clothing tells stories, their customs and rituals… it’s like walking through a living history.”

Lexa’s gaze softened just a fraction. “It is a tapestry, woven with many threads. Strength and tradition, pride and survival. All interlaced, sometimes tangled, but always part of the whole.”

Clarke nodded slowly. “It’s humbling, and… inspiring. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. Back home, everything feels smaller, quieter. I want to explore it more, see the places and people behind the stories.”

Lexa’s lips twitched into what might have been a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Curiosity is a dangerous thing for a leader, but it’s necessary. To understand those you protect… and those you challenge.”

Clarke met Lexa’s steady gaze. “I don’t want to be here just a contender. I want to understand the world, and maybe find a place in it.”

Clarke’s brush moved steadily across the canvas, strokes of deep green and soft gold bringing a forest to life under her careful hand. The quiet scratch of bristles was the only sound in the room, punctuated by the occasional shifting of her weight on the couch.

Lexa watched her from across the room, arms folded, eyes thoughtful. It was hard to believe this was the same girl who had arrived weeks ago. Quiet, angry, defiant. The girl who had barely met her gaze and kept her walls high.

Now, Clarke seemed… different. Softer somehow. More open. She acknowledged Lexa’s presence without the usual sharp edge, even spoke with a kind of tentative ease. Maybe even, dare she think it, trusted her.

Lexa’s lips curled in a small, almost reluctant smile. She knew Clarke wanted nothing more than to go home, to slip away from this place and this impossible choice. But despite that, Lexa found herself drawn to the girl’s fierce spirit—headstrong, intelligent, unyielding.

She was the kind of woman Lexa could respect. The kind she might want to lead beside.

Lexa stepped closer, her voice calm but probing. “At the end of all this… do you still want to return home?”

Clarke’s brush faltered, the colors blending awkwardly as she stopped painting. She hesitated, fingers tightening around the brush. After a moment, she met Lexa’s eyes, raw honesty in her gaze.

“I miss my family. My friends,” Clarke admitted quietly. “I hate being used like a political pawn. I want a marriage out of love, not duty.”

The words hung heavy in the room.

Lexa nodded slowly, considering. “If, when this is all through, you find you like it here enough,” she said carefully, “you could stay as an ambassador. Travel back and forth between Arkadia and Polis with ease. You wouldn’t be trapped.”

Clarke’s eyes flickered with surprise, then something softer, hope. “That… that would be something.”

Lexa’s gaze held steady. “It’s your choice. Always.”

Lexa dismissed her not long after, offering a quiet “Goodnight, Clarke,” before slipping from the room like a breeze through cracked stone. Clarke remained frozen in place for a moment, heart pounding, thoughts spinning.

She hadn’t expected the Commander to be so… kind. And worse, she hadn’t expected to enjoy her company.

Clarke exhaled slowly, forcing her thoughts into the background as she made her way back to her chambers. Her boots clicked lightly against the stone as she opened the door, only to stop short at the sight before her.

Raven was lounging on the couch, a smug, knowing smile tugging at her lips. Across from her sat Anya, arms crossed but clearly amused. Their heads turned in unison as Clarke stepped inside.

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “Do I even want to know what’s going on here?”

Anya stood, brushing imaginary dust from her armor. “Just a friendly exchange of opinions,” she said, almost too smoothly. Her eyes lingered on Clarke a second longer than usual, something unreadable flashing behind them.

Clarke offered a small nod. “Hi, Anya.”

Anya gave the faintest of smirks. “Hi. And goodbye.” With that, she swept past Clarke and disappeared through the door.

Clarke shut it behind her and turned, narrowing her eyes at Raven. “What was that?”

Raven’s grin widened. “Oh, nothing. Just your escort asking way too many questions about you. You’ve got fans, Princess.”

Clarke rolled her eyes and made her way to the bed, her mind still tangled with thoughts of Lexa’s voice, her offer, her eyes.

And now, apparently, she had to worry about Anya too.

Chapter 5: Five

A sharp knock echoed through the chamber.

Clarke stirred, groggy and tangled in her sheets, blinking against the soft morning light bleeding through the tall windows. Another knock, firmer this time. She groaned softly and sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Just a minute!” she called, swinging her legs out of bed.

She was still in her nightgown. Simple linen, modest but wrinkled from sleep. With a yawn, she reached for her robe, tying it tightly around her waist before padding barefoot to the door. She opened it.

And froze.

Lexa stood on the other side.

The Commander looked as composed as ever in her black leathers and forest-green cloak, though her brow lifted slightly at the sight of Clarke’s mussed hair and robe. “Good morning,” Lexa said evenly, but there was something softer in her voice than usual.

Clarke blinked. “Lexa,” she said, surprised. “It’s not our day.”

Lexa nodded. “I know. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You kind of did,” Clarke mumbled, tugging her robe tighter with one hand.

A brief flicker of amusement passed over Lexa’s face. “Apologies. But I wanted to ask if you would sit in on a council meeting this morning.”

Clarke tilted her head. “Why?”

“If you are to consider the role of ambassador,” Lexa explained, “you should understand the politics of the coalition. It isn’t all ceremonies and silk dresses. Sometimes it’s… long hours and difficult choices.” Her eyes studied Clarke’s carefully. “You should see it for yourself.”

Clarke hesitated, brushing a piece of hair from her face. “You really think I could be an ambassador?”

“I think,” Lexa said gently, “you should have the choice.”

That silenced her for a moment. Clarke looked down, the morning chill suddenly more noticeable as it slipped in through the cracked door.

“I’ll be out shortly,” she finally said, voice softer now. “Just give me a few minutes.”

Lexa nodded. “I’ll have Anya escort you to the council chambers when you’re ready.”

Then she turned and walked down the hall, her steps silent.

Clarke shut the door slowly behind her, leaning her forehead against the wood. She’d expected a quiet day, a lazy morning. Instead, she was heading into the lion’s den of politics, still slightly dazed and with the ghost of Lexa’s concern lingering in her chest.

She sighed, pushed herself upright, and reached for her clothes.

—

The walk to the council chambers was quiet.

Anya as usual, was unreadable, silent and steady beside Clarke, her boots echoing softly off the stone floors. She didn’t seem particularly interested in conversation, but Clarke’s mind was still reeling from being woken by Lexa herself, and silence only made the thoughts louder.

They turned a corner, a long stretch of hallway ahead. Clarke glanced at Anya out of the corner of her eye.

“I didn’t know you were close with Raven,” she said casually, though her voice gave her away.

Anya’s step faltered, just slightly. But it was enough.

“I didn’t say we were close,” Anya replied after a moment, her tone neutral. “She’s good company.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes, the ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips. “That’s a very vague answer.”

Anya tilted her head but kept walking. “It’s the truth.”

“Right,” Clarke said, folding her arms over her chest. “Nothing to do with how your expression changes every time she’s in the room.”

That earned her a small huff of amusement, but Anya didn’t respond. Instead, her eyes flicked forward. “We’re here.”

They stopped in front of the tall double doors leading into the council chambers. Clarke could hear the low hum of voices beyond it, the rustle of movement, and the occasional clink of metal. The air grew heavier.

Anya turned to her. “You don’t have to speak unless addressed. Just observe.”

Clarke nodded, straightening her spine and trying to steel herself for whatever politics looked like in Polis.

As the doors opened, her mind was still on Raven, and Anya’s non-answer.

She was definitely going to ask Raven about it later.

The council chamber was colder than Clarke expected. Built of stone and steel, with a round table at its center, flanked by high-backed chairs carved with the sigils of each clan. At least a dozen ambassadors and officials sat around it, and Lexa occupied the seat at the head, posture regal but alert.

Clarke took the empty seat to Lexa’s right. A few heads turned toward her, curious or disapproving, but Lexa gave no explanation. That, apparently, was enough.

The meeting began with updates from several clans. Harvest reports, trade negotiations, border activity.

Then Azgeda spoke.

“We’ve received word of Skaikru soldiers near the northern ridge, too close to our patrol lines,” the Azgeda ambassador, a broad-shouldered man named Rylen, said. “This is not the first time their presence has been… intrusive.”

Clarke’s ears immediately perked up. She sat a little straighter.

“The aggression cannot continue unchecked,” Rylen continued. “We request permission to respond accordingly. We must defend what is ours.”

Lexa leaned back slightly in her chair. “No.”

The room fell into still silence.

Lexa’s voice, though calm, carried the weight of command. “We only just secured peace with Skaikru. We won’t ignite a war over a border patrol misunderstanding.”

Rylen bristled. “Commander, this is more than misunderstanding. These incursions—”

Lexa raised her hand, silencing him. Then she turned to Clarke.

“What is Skaikru’s view on this?” she asked. “You are here as their representative, are you not?”

Clarke blinked, startled. She hadn’t expected to speak. Several eyes turned toward her — some intrigued, others clearly skeptical. She swallowed, then stood slowly, steadying her breath.

She met Lexa’s gaze briefly before turning to Rylen.

“Skaikru doesn’t want war with Azgeda,” she said, voice firm. “But let’s be clear. We have only ever shown aggression at the border in response to Azgeda’s own.”

Rylen scowled, but she didn’t look away.

“We lost many of our own to Azgeda patrols. Good people. My father included.” Her jaw clenched, and her voice dropped, sharper now. “If your warriors fear our presence, maybe they should ask why we’ve felt the need to defend ourselves in the first place.”

The silence that followed was thick.

Rylen looked as if he wanted to respond, but Lexa spoke first.

“Well said,” she murmured. Then, louder, “There will be no retaliation. Skaikru has not broken any accords. If your people feel threatened, you may submit a formal petition for a reevaluation of patrol boundaries. Until then, no action will be taken.”

Rylen pressed his lips into a tight line, but nodded.

Clarke sat down, heart still thudding in her chest. She felt Lexa’s gaze linger on her a moment longer.  Thoughtful and impressed before the meeting moved on.

And just like that, Clarke Griffin had made her mark on the coalition.

—

Clarke shut the door to her chambers with a soft sigh, her body relaxing for the first time all day. The council meeting had been intense, but she’d held her own. Something she hadn’t expected to feel quite so proud of. Still humming with the adrenaline of standing her ground, she curled into the couch, a book in hand, eyes skimming words she wasn’t really reading.

A knock sounded at the door.

Before Clarke could call out, it creaked open and Lexa stepped inside.

Clarke shot to her feet instantly, setting the book aside and smoothing her dress.

“Heda,” she said with a slight bow. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company… twice in one day?”

Lexa’s lips quirked, amused by Clarke’s sarcasm. She stepped inside as the guards pulled the door shut behind her, sealing them in private.

“You did well today,” Lexa said simply, crossing the room with the measured grace of a ruler. “Strong, articulate, honest.”

Clarke blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. “Thank you.”

“I meant it,” Lexa added, pausing in front of her, voice quieter now. “I knew bringing you to the meeting would serve a purpose. Skaikru needed a voice, and you gave them one.”

Clarke held her eyes, nodding slowly. “It’s easy to speak the truth when no one else will.”

Lexa tilted her head slightly. “You spoke of your father.”

The words landed heavy in the room.

Clarke’s shoulders tensed, but she didn’t look away. “Yes. I did.”

“I didn’t know the full story,” Lexa admitted. “Just that Azgeda was involved in… conflict with your people during early negotiations.”

Clarke’s mouth tightened, and she folded her arms across her chest as if bracing herself. “They were more than ‘conflicts.’ My father was overseeing an early trade summit. It was peaceful, or supposed to be, until Azgeda warriors decided to make a statement. He died protecting others.”

Lexa nodded solemnly, her eyes not leaving Clarke’s. “I’m sorry.”

Clarke blinked, visibly surprised. She’d expected formality. Not softness. Not this sincere quiet between them.

“I don’t want my judgment clouded by personal history,” she admitted, softer now. “But when Ambassador Rylen started talking about retaliation like they’re the victims—”

“You were right to speak,” Lexa interrupted gently. “And you showed the council exactly what kind of ambassador you’d be.”

Clarke’s gaze dropped to the floor, then slowly returned to Lexa. “I don’t know if I want to be one.”

Lexa studied her for a moment, then gave a slight nod, almost to herself. “Whether or not you stay, Skaikru will benefit from your presence here. And… so might I.”

That stunned Clarke into silence. She searched Lexa’s expression, but the commander’s face had returned to its usual composure, though her voice had softened.

Lexa stepped back, breaking the tension.

“I’ll leave you to your reading,” she said quietly. “I only wanted to say well done.”

Clarke nodded slowly, heart pounding in her chest for reasons that had nothing to do with politics.

“Thank you, Commander.”

Lexa gave her one last look, lingering and unreadable, before slipping out the door. 

—

The moonlight streamed through the tall, narrow windows of the Polis palace, casting silver lines across the stone floors. Clarke pulled her robe tighter around her as she stepped into the corridor, her bare feet silent against the cold tile. Sleep had evaded her again. Too many thoughts, too many feelings, and the echo of Lexa’s voice still tumbling through her head from earlier.

She had told her she did well. That her presence here mattered. And for the first time in weeks, Clarke wasn’t sure she wanted to leave.

But unease still sat heavy on her chest. She had barely survived an assassination attempt and while Lexa had promised her safety, Clarke knew better than to fully trust walls and words. Which is why, as she slipped down the hall, she kept her fingers tightly wrapped around the hilt of the sword hanging loosely at her side.

She took another turn, tracing the corridors she was just starting to learn, when her shoulder slammed hard into something, or someone.

Clarke stumbled back a step, startled. Her hand flew to the hilt of her sword just as a voice cut through the stillness.

“Well, if it isn’t the little Skaikru girl.”

Her eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light, and her stomach dropped.

Rylen.

His eyes were already narrowed, his face twisted in barely-contained fury. He towered over her, cold and sharp, like the northern ice he’d come from.

Clarke straightened, her jaw tightening as she squared her stance. “Ambassador.”

His gaze dropped to the sword in her grip, and he laughed, a cruel sound that echoed down the empty corridor. “You think you could even touch me with that?”

Before she could answer, he moved.

His hand shot out, wrapping around her throat, slamming her back into the stone wall behind her. The blade clattered from her grip, falling uselessly to the ground.

Clarke gasped, both hands grabbing at his wrist as his fingers dug into her windpipe.

“I could kill you this easily,” he sneered, pressing in closer, his breath hot and sour against her face. “No one would stop me. Not in time.”

Her vision blurred at the edges, heart pounding wildly in her chest. But she didn’t look away. Even as fear surged through her, she kept her eyes locked on his.

“I’d like to see you try,” she choked out, her voice rough but defiant.

A sudden voice cut through the hallway like a blade.

“Get your hands off her.”

Rylen froze.

Then, slowly, he turned.

Lexa stood at the far end of the corridor, dressed in dark leathers and her sleep-tousled braid falling over her shoulder. Behind her, two guards immediately stormed forward.

Rylen released Clarke with a jerk, stepping back as if nothing had happened. Clarke fell forward, catching herself on shaky knees, one hand flying to her throat as she coughed harshly.

Lexa didn’t look at Rylen. She went straight to Clarke, kneeling beside her.

“Are you alright?” she asked, voice low, eyes scanning her face for injury.

Clarke nodded slowly, still gasping. “I’m okay,” she rasped.

Lexa rose slowly, turning to the ambassador now, her entire presence shifting. Icy, commanding, and furious.

“Take him,” she ordered the guards. “Confine him to the southern tower. No contact with council. No access to his delegation. If he resists, draw your blades.”

Rylen eyes widened, but he said nothing as the guards seized him by both arms and dragged him down the corridor.

Lexa watched him go, then looked back to Clarke.

“You shouldn’t be walking the halls alone,” she said, gentler this time.

Clarke gave a weak, breathy laugh. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Lexa stepped closer, voice quieter. “You could have died.”

Clarke looked up at her, and this time she didn’t hide what she felt. The fear, the defiance, the gratitude.

“But I didn’t,” she said.

Lexa exhaled and nodded once. “No. You didn’t.”

Then, without another word, she placed a steadying hand on Clarke’s back and guided her down the hall.

“Come,” she said. “You’re staying in my chambers tonight. Where it’s safe.”

And Clarke didn’t argue.

The halls of the palace were quiet as Lexa led Clarke through the winding corridors, her hand never straying far from her sword. Two guards trailed behind them at a respectful distance, their presence a silent reassurance.

Clarke didn’t say a word. Her throat still ached from Rylen’s grip, and her mind reeled from the shock of what had just happened. But Lexa was a steady presence beside her. Quiet, composed, and for once, not the indomitable Commander, but something else. Something closer.

When they arrived at Lexa’s chambers, she dismissed the guards and stepped inside first, lighting one of the lanterns and gesturing for Clarke to follow.

Clarke’s gaze swept over the room, it was simpler than she imagined for someone of Lexa’s status. Still, it held the unmistakable weight of power. Weapons mounted along one wall, a desk stacked with scrolls and ink pots, and a large bed nestled against the far wall, its dark furs already turned down.

Clarke stood awkwardly by the door until Lexa moved toward the couch and began gathering a folded blanket and pillow from a nearby chest.

“You take the bed,” Lexa said without looking back. “I take the couch.”

Clarke frowned. “Lexa, I’m not—”

“Clarke,” Lexa said firmly, turning to face her, “you’ve been attacked twice in my home. You’re a guest. You deserve rest. Not a stiff couch.”

Clarke stared at her, uncertain. But there was no room for argument in Lexa’s tone. After a brief pause, she gave a small nod and murmured, “Alright. Thank you.”

As Clarke settled under the heavy furs of the bed, Lexa stretched out on the couch, one arm folded beneath her head, her long legs hanging slightly over the edge.

Silence settled between them for a while, thick but not uncomfortable. The flickering lantern bathed the room in warm, golden light.

Then Lexa’s voice broke the quiet.

“Would you like to go home?”

Clarke blinked, lifting her head slightly off the pillow. “What?”

Lexa turned her head, their eyes meeting across the soft glow of the room. “If this is too much. If the danger is too great. You can leave, and I’ll arrange safe passage. No one would blame you.”

Clarke’s brow furrowed. “Why are you asking me that?”

Lexa hesitated, then sat up slightly, resting her arms on her knees. “Because there have been two attempts on your life. In the matter of a week. That is not… acceptable. And it is not safe.”

Clarke’s eyes darkened, her voice low but firm. “I wouldn’t be any safer at home.”

Lexa raised a brow, surprised. “Azgeda—”

“—is near our border. They could reach me there just as easily,” Clarke said. “And I doubt Rylen’s grudge stops at the Polis walls.”

Lexa was quiet, absorbing her words.

“And besides,” Clarke added, eyes meeting Lexa’s again, “I’m not running.”

A beat passed. Then Lexa’s lips curved slightly, the barest ghost of a smile.

“No,” she agreed softly. “You’re not.”

Clarke settled back into the bed, turning toward the window as her thoughts continued to race. But even with everything that had happened, with the fear still fresh in her bones, she felt strangely… calm.

Chapter 6: Six

Clarke awoke slowly, a gentle breeze stirring the curtains as early morning light painted golden streaks across the stone walls. It took her a moment to remember where she was. Not her own bed, but Lexa’s. The weight of the night before pressed lightly on her chest: the fear, the bruises, and then… Lexa, offering comfort without hesitation. Giving up her own bed without a second thought.

The sheets still held warmth, but the couch in the corner was empty. Lexa was already up.

Clarke sat up, rubbing her eyes, when the door creaked open. Lexa stepped inside, tray in hand.

Her armor was gone, replaced by a soft green tunic belted at the waist, her hair swept into its usual half-knot. She looked like herself. Not the Commander, not the girl from the battlefield, but someone caught between war and something gentler.

“You’re awake,” Lexa said, approaching with quiet footsteps. “Good.”

“You’re bringing me breakfast now?” Clarke asked, voice husky with sleep.

Lexa offered the barest trace of a smile. “Consider it thanks for surviving the week.”

Clarke scoffed lightly. “Always a pleasure.”

Lexa set the tray down on the small table near the bed: roasted root vegetables, a piece of crusty bread, and something that smelled like warm, spiced tea. Clarke leaned forward, the aroma immediately soothing.

Lexa sat across from her, but not too close. Still, the space between them felt… different now.

“We have our first council meeting this morning,” Lexa said, tone shifting. “The ambassadors are gathering to address the attempted assassinations. We’ll speak on Ontari and Rylen’s fates.”

Clarke’s face tightened slightly. “And what’s expected of me?”

“You’ll be observing,” Lexa said. “But I also want you to speak. You were attacked. Your voice matters.”

Clarke blinked, surprised. “The council will listen to me?”

Lexa nodded once. “They will listen if I say they should.”

Clarke paused, fingers wrapping around the tea. “And what’s the plan? Execution? Imprisonment?”

Lexa took a breath. “That will be debated. The ambassadors will offer their recommendations. Chancellor Kane radioed in this morning with Arkadia’s stance — he wants Rylen extradited back to Azgeda and Ontari removed from Polis. He didn’t say how.”

“Coward’s way out,” Clarke muttered.

Lexa glanced at her, intrigued.

Clarke looked up. “She pressed a knife to my throat in my sleep. He nearly strangled me to death in the halls. And we’re debating what to do?”

“There are politics to consider,” Lexa said carefully. “Nia, Ontari’s queen, has been threatening my seat since I ascended. Anything we do will be seen as a move on the board.”

“So make the right move,” Clarke said. “Or stop pretending we’re playing chess when someone just flipped the table.”

Lexa’s eyes lingered on her, admiration flickering behind the storm.

“I invited you to the council to hear that voice,” she said softly.

Clarke looked down, her voice quieter now. “I just want to make it through the day without someone trying to kill me.”

Lexa stood, smoothing the folds of her tunic. “Stay close. Speak when you’re moved to. The council may not love Skaikru, but they respect truth when it’s wielded well.”

Clarke gave a tired smile. “I’ll try not to start a war.”

Lexa’s expression didn’t quite smile, but her voice held something warmer.

“Start the right one.”

—

The council chambers were filled with quiet tension, the air thick with anticipation as representatives from each of the twelve clans took their seats. Clarke entered beside Lexa, her posture straight despite the faint ache in her ribs from the night before. Eyes turned as they passed, some curious, others cold, but she kept her gaze forward until she reached her seat at Lexa’s right.

Lexa didn’t sit immediately. Instead, she remained standing, her expression stoic as she addressed the room.

“We are gathered today to determine the fate of two individuals who broke sacred trust and endangered the peace of this Coalition.”

Murmurs stirred across the room.

“Ontari of Azgeda, a former contender, broke into the private chambers of Skaikru’s delegate with intent to kill. And Rylen, ambassador of Azgeda, assaulted that same delegate in the halls of this palace.”

Gasps and angry murmurs erupted. The Azgeda seat remained notably silent.

Lexa nodded to Clarke. “Skaikru’s delegate, Clarke kom Skaikru, is the victim of both attacks. She will speak first.”

Clarke stood, nerves steady but not absent. She felt the weight of their eyes on her, the gravity of the moment.

“I came here to represent my people. Not as a warrior, not even truly as a contender, but as a daughter. Of peace, of compromise.” She paused. “What Ontari and Rylen did to me was not personal, it was political. A statement. They don’t see Skaikru as worthy. And they hoped to scare me into leaving. But I’m still here and I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. Neither is Skaikru.”

Several delegates nodded quietly.

She turned her gaze toward the Azgeda seat, where the representative sat unmoved. “My vote is clear. Ontari should face the highest punishment allowed for attempted assassination. Rylen should be returned to Azgeda to face judgment by his own queen. Let them deal with the consequences of the actions they permitted.”

Lexa inclined her head, her face unreadable as she resumed her seat.

“The Chancellor of Skaikru sent a message early this morning,” Lexa added. “He concurs with Clarke kom Skaikru. He believes Ontari’s actions demand death, and Rylen should be extradited. However, this council must decide.”

A heated discussion followed. Floukru stood with Skaikru, while Trishanakru and Sangedakru argued for restraint. The delegate from Azgeda rose slowly.

“Ontari was acting on her own. Queen Nia will not approve of her death without protest.”

Lexa rose again.

“Queen Nia has been protesting my rule since the day I was chosen. Let her protest. I will not allow assassins to roam my halls.”

Clarke watched her, chest tight with admiration.

Eventually, one by one, the clans cast their votes.

The decision was nearly unanimous. Ontari would be executed at dawn. Rylen would be returned to Azgeda in chains.

Lexa closed the meeting with a quiet, “So let it be done.”

As the room cleared, Clarke remained seated, heart pounding. Justice had been served. But a storm was brewing, and she could feel its wind beginning to shift.

—

Clarke returned to her chambers with a slow, steady pace, the weight of the council meeting still sitting heavy in her chest. The decision had been made, justice served, or what passed for it in Polis. She could still feel the way the room shifted when Lexa spoke. The quiet power. The unwavering conviction. It was… impressive. Dangerous.

When she opened her chamber door, all three of them were already inside. Raven sprawled on the couch, Octavia was sharpening a blade at the table, and Bellamy stood near the window with crossed arms.

Raven looked up first. “There she is. The girl who stared down Azgeda and lived to talk about it.”

Clarke closed the door behind her with a tired smile. “Wasn’t exactly planning on becoming the face of political defiance today.”

Octavia smirked, setting her blade down. “You handled it well. I think you even surprised Lexa.”

Clarke didn’t answer, just walked toward the armchair and dropped into it with a sigh. Bellamy raised an eyebrow.

“You okay?”

She nodded, brushing her hair off her face. “Just… a lot.”

Raven tilted her head. “Speaking of a lot, where exactly did you sleep last night?”

Clarke blinked. “What?”

Raven sat up straighter, grinning. “You weren’t here when I came back. Bellamy and O didn’t know either. So where’d you go after being nearly strangled by an ambassador?”

Clarke hesitated. “Lexa’s chambers.”

Raven let out a low whistle. “Oh?”

“Not like that,” Clarke said quickly, hands raised as her cheeks flushed. “I slept in her bed. She took the couch. Nothing happened.”

Octavia snorted. “That sounds like something you’d say even if something did happen.”

Clarke shot her a look. “It didn’t.”

Raven leaned forward, eyes glinting. “I mean, no judgment if it did. The maids say the Commander’s got hands blessed by the Flame itself.”

Clarke buried her face in her hands. “Raven.”

“I’m just saying,” Raven laughed. “You can’t deny there’s tension between you two. And if the rumors are true…”

Clarke peeked through her fingers. “Can we not?”

Bellamy rolled his eyes and muttered something about needing air, slipping out the door. Octavia chuckled and leaned back in her chair.

Raven leaned toward Clarke, her tone softening just slightly. “All teasing aside, are you okay? Really?”

Clarke looked at her, and after a long pause, nodded. “I think I will be.”

—

The halls had quieted. The flickering candle on Clarke’s table was the only source of light, casting a warm glow across her chambers as she curled into the corner of the couch, a worn book in her hands. The day had been long, full of debate, tension, and the ever-present weight of consequence. She welcomed the silence now, the calm after the storm.

Her friends had gone to bed hours ago, their laughter and bickering fading down the hall. Clarke had needed a few moments to herself, to process everything. The vote, the decision, the eyes that had been on her. And Lexa’s.

A soft knock pulled her attention to the door. She glanced up, surprised.

“Come in,” she called, her voice low.

The door opened slowly and Lexa stepped in.

The candlelight made her look softer, less like the revered Commander and more like the girl Clarke was still trying to figure out.

Clarke stood, carefully setting her book aside.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Lexa said.

“Not at all,” Clarke answered, gesturing for her to sit. “Everything alright?”

Lexa shook her head slightly, almost a smile tugging at her lips.

“Yes. I just wanted to see you. And tell you that… you did well today. In the council chamber. You spoke with strength. Conviction.”

Clarke’s eyebrows lifted, caught off guard by the praise.

“Thank you.”

Lexa took a slow step further in, pausing just in front of the couch.

“I was surprised, if I’m being honest. That you stayed. After everything. After Rylen. After Ontari. You’re still here.”

Clarke looked down at her hands for a beat.

“I was surprised too.”

Lexa studied her for a moment before speaking again.

“I know you didn’t want to be chosen. That you still might not. But… I find myself glad that you stayed.”

Clarke met her gaze, searching. There was something different in Lexa’s tone. Something more vulnerable, more honest than before. It softened Clarke in turn.

“I’m not sure what it means yet. All of this,” Clarke admitted.

“But I’m trying to figure it out. I want it to mean something. More than politics and survival.”

Lexa’s eyes lingered on her, quiet for a long beat. Then, she nodded.

“That’s all I ask.”

They stood in silence for a beat, the words hanging between them. Lexa’s eyes flicked downward, trailing to Clarke’s lips before slowly returning to meet her gaze.

Clarke noticed. And when she did, her own eyes dropped, studying Lexa’s mouth in return. Full. Soft. Unpainted for once. The kind of lips that made her wonder how they might feel against her own. Warm, gentle, maybe even hesitant at first.

Her breath caught slightly, a subtle shift in the air between them as the space seemed to shrink, no more than a few inches now. Neither of them moved, but something unspoken passed between them. Want. Curiosity. Caution.

Clarke’s fingers twitched slightly at her side. She didn’t dare lean in. But she didn’t pull away either.

And Lexa didn’t move, watching her just the same.

Waiting.

Clarke’s breath hitched in her throat. Her heart was a loud, steady thrum in her ears. Every logical voice in her head screamed that this was a bad idea. Complicated, political, dangerous. But none of those warnings reached her feet or her lips as she leaned in just slightly.

Lexa met her halfway.

Their lips pressed together in a kiss that was tentative at first, soft and searching. Clarke’s hand brushed against Lexa’s arm, unsure of where to hold, if she even should. But then Lexa tilted her head slightly, deepening the kiss, and all hesitation unraveled between them.

Clarke parted her lips, letting Lexa in, and the kiss turned warmer, fuller, less careful. Her hand found Lexa’s waist, steadying herself as the Commander’s fingers lightly grazed the back of her neck, anchoring her in place.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was slow, simmering.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless but close, Clarke didn’t move back.

Lexa’s forehead rested gently against hers, their breathing mingling in the quiet of the room. Neither of them said anything.

Clarke opened her mouth to speak, to say something, anything to make sense of what had just happened. But before the words could come out, Lexa stepped back.

“Goodnight, Clarke,” she said quickly, her voice soft but distant.

And then she was gone.

The door closed behind her with a quiet click, leaving Clarke standing there, breathless and confused. Her heart was still racing, her lips still tingling from the kiss, and yet the space in front of her felt emptier than it had just moments before.

She sat back down on the couch, her thoughts swirling. What just happened?

Clarke reached up, touching her lips as if to confirm the kiss had actually happened. It had. It absolutely had. But now she was left with more questions than answers and a storm of feelings she wasn’t prepared to face.

Chapter 7: Seven

Notes:

Hii guys! Thank you for all the support. Happy pride month and enjoy the chapter <3

Clarke sat alone near the window of her chambers, sunlight cutting in soft beams across the floor, catching the edges of the parchment in her hands. The words were clear. Final. Heavy.

Ontari had been executed.

Rylen would be imprisoned in Azgeda.

The outcomes were exactly what she had voted for. Justice, clean and swift. But the air in Polis didn’t feel any lighter. And neither did she.

It had been days since the kiss. Days of silence from Lexa. Not even a glance in the council chambers or across the training grounds. Clarke had been ignored before, dismissed, doubted, but this… this was different. Intimate and distant all at once. And it gnawed at her in ways she wasn’t ready to admit.

The door burst open, slamming against the wall.

Bellamy.

His face was pale, his breathing uneven. “Clarke”

She stood instantly. “What happened?”

He didn’t waste time. “There was an ambush. Trade route between Arkadia and Trikru territory. Four guards from Skaikru dead. Two more injured.”

Clarke’s heart dropped. “Azgeda?”

Bellamy nodded grimly. “Not confirmed. But who else? This was coordinated. Retaliation for Ontari. It’s spreading fast. We’ve got clans whispering. People scared. Kane radioed in. He wants me back in Arkadia immediately.”

Clarke opened her mouth, her mind already spinning.

“He asked about you,” Bellamy continued. “Abby too. She wants to make sure you’re safe here. She wants someone close to you assigned. Someone trusted. Octavia’s staying, but…”

His eyes flicked toward her meaningfully.

Clarke knew what he was thinking. What she was thinking. Lexa”

“She’s been avoiding me,” Clarke muttered, more to herself than to Bellamy.

“Then make her face you,” he said firmly. “If she cares about you, she’ll listen. If she cares about peace, she has to.”

Clarke nodded slowly, the words sinking in like weight.

Lexa hadn’t come to her. Not after the kiss. But Clarke had never been the type to wait around for someone else to act. And if war was creeping closer again, she wasn’t about to be caught off guard.

She looked back at Bellamy. “Tell Abby I’ll take care of it. I’ll get someone assigned.”

—

Clarke was pacing her chambers, tension buzzing beneath her skin. Raven lounged on the edge of her bed, tinkering with a small device she’d smuggled from Arkadia.

“She’s back, you know,” Raven said without looking up.

Clarke stilled. “Lexa?”

Raven nodded. “Saw her heading into her chambers a few minutes ago. Looked like she hadn’t slept.”

Clarke didn’t respond, grabbing her cloak and heading for the door before she could change her mind.

Outside Lexa’s chambers, two guards stood at attention. They straightened when they saw Clarke approach.

“Ambassador,” one greeted, then opened the door without her needing to say a word. “Commander, you have a visitor.”

Clarke stepped into the room slowly. Lexa was seated at her desk, her back straight, pen gliding across parchment. Her armor was off, only her black undershirt and soft leather bracers clinging to her arms. She didn’t look up.

When she finally did, surprise flickered across her features. But her tone remained cool.

“What do you need, Clarke?”

Clarke swallowed, forcing herself to stay steady. “I heard about the attack along the trade route. Bellamy’s been recalled to Arkadia. Chancellor Marcus has asked for additional security for me… from someone you trust.”

Lexa’s jaw twitched. Her eyes dropped back to the papers in front of her.

“It’ll be done,” she said, voice clipped.

Clarke lingered, waiting for more. Some acknowledgement. But Lexa didn’t even look up.

Clarke didn’t leave.

She stood there, silent for a moment, watching Lexa continue writing like nothing had just passed between them. Then, before she could stop herself, the words spilled out.

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

Lexa’s hand froze over the page. Her shoulders tensed, and she lifted her eyes slowly, clearly caught off guard by Clarke’s bluntness.

Clarke held her gaze, unflinching.

Lexa hesitated, searching for words. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter, more careful.

“We’re getting too close.”

Clarke furrowed her brows. “Why is that a problem?”

Lexa sighed, setting her pen down and folding her hands on the table. She finally gave Clarke her full attention.

“Because you don’t want to be here,” she said, her voice even. “You don’t want to stay, not really. Not even as an ambassador.”

“That’s not true,” Clarke said quickly, stepping closer. “I have been considering the ambassador role. I’ve thought about what it would mean.”

Lexa looked away, jaw clenched.

“As for marriage…” Clarke started, then paused, choosing her words carefully. “I said I wanted a marriage out of love. And I’m not saying I’m there yet… but I’ve grown fond of you.”

Lexa’s expression shifted slightly. Surprise flickered in her eyes, quickly masked by something colder.

“I’m not looking for a marriage out of love,” she said simply. “Love is weakness.”

Clarke’s chest tightened, but she didn’t flinch.

Clarke stood in silence, watching Lexa’s eyes darken with something heavier than politics or power. She took a slow step forward.

“Why do you believe that?” Clarke asked gently. “That love is weakness?”

Lexa’s eyes flickered to hers, and for a moment, she looked torn. Then, with a breath that sounded almost like defeat, she answered.

“Because the last time I loved someone… it got her killed.”

Clarke’s heart sank. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “What happened?”

Lexa looked away, jaw tightening, the mask of control slipping just slightly.

“Her name was Costia,” she said quietly. “She was from the north. Smart, stubborn, always questioning me, even when she shouldn’t have. She made me feel seen, even before I became Commander. I let her too close.”

Clarke listened, not interrupting, letting the words come in Lexa’s time.

“Nia found out,” Lexa said finally. “The Queen of Azgeda. She had her taken… tortured… beheaded. Delivered her head to me in bed.”

The room felt colder. Clarke’s stomach turned.

“I was young. I didn’t listen to the warnings. I let my feelings cloud my judgment, and Costia paid the price for it.”

Lexa’s voice didn’t waver, but the pain in her eyes was raw and real.

“So yes,” she said, softer now, “I believe love is weakness. Because when you have something, someone, you can’t afford to lose, your enemies will use it. And they will make you bleed for it.”

Clarke swallowed hard, heart aching, unsure of what to say. But she stepped closer still, close enough that Lexa could feel her warmth.

“I don’t think Azgeda is a threat anymore. Not to me. Not after what I said in that council room. I stood my ground, and I saw the way they looked at me after. I showed them I wasn’t afraid.”

Lexa shook her head slowly. “You humiliated Rylen. That doesn’t mean they won’t retaliate. As long as Nia rules, they’ll remain a threat. She doesn’t forget. And she never forgives.”

Clarke took a step forward, closing the space between them. Carefully, she reached out and took Lexa’s hand. Her thumb brushed gently over the back of it.

“I can defend myself,” she said softly. “I’m not fragile.”

Lexa looked down at their joined hands, then back at Clarke, expression unreadable.

Clarke’s next words came out before she could stop them. Honest and sure.

“I want you, Lexa.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken things. Lexa’s fingers curled slightly in Clarke’s hand, and her eyes searched her face as if trying to find a lie and failing.

“You shouldn’t,” Lexa whispered.

“But I do.” Clarke’s voice didn’t shake.

Lexa’s grip on Clarke’s hand tightened just slightly, the weight of her gaze heavy with warning.

“It’s dangerous,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Wanting me… being with me… it paints a target on your back.”

Clarke stepped closer until there was almost no space between them. Her heart was pounding, but her voice was steady.

“I don’t care.”

Lexa’s breath hitched, her restraint cracking at the edges. She looked at Clarke as if trying to memorize her face, to make sense of the moment. Then, with a sharp exhale, she gave in.

Their lips met in a kiss that was deep and desperate. Weeks of tension pouring out all at once. Lexa’s hands came up to cradle Clarke’s face, pulling her in closer. Clarke’s fingers tangled in the fabric of Lexa’s shirt, holding on tightly as if to anchor herself.

It wasn’t soft or tentative. It was raw and hungry, filled with all the things they couldn’t say, all the things they weren’t supposed to want. And neither of them pulled away.

Lexa’s hands began to move with intention, sliding down from Clarke’s face to her sides, fingers tracing the curve of her waist, memorizing every line through the thin fabric of her robe. The kiss deepened, growing more desperate with each passing second, all caution lost between them.

Clarke gasped softly against Lexa’s mouth as their bodies pressed together, her own hands roaming, holding tightly, like she was afraid this might slip away if she let go. Lexa’s lips moved from Clarke’s mouth to the edge of her jaw, then lower, until her breath was warm against her neck, sending shivers across Clarke’s skin.

Their need was unspoken but undeniable, built on tension and guarded looks, on nights spent wondering and mornings spent pretending. Here, in the quiet glow of the candlelight, they let the walls crumble just for a moment.

They pulled away slowly, breath mingling in the quiet room. Lexa’s voice dropped to a low whisper, “Clarke…” The name hung between them, heavy with meaning.

Clarke stepped back, eyes searching Lexa’s for a moment longer. “Think about it,” she said softly, her voice steady but tender. Without waiting for a response, she turned and left the room, leaving Lexa standing there, the air thick with everything left unsaid.

—

Clarke pushed open the door to Raven’s adjoining room without knocking, expecting to find her friend working or reading. Instead, she was met with a sight that made her freeze in place. Raven was laid back on the bed, wearing little clothing and Anya was on top of her. 

Mortified, Clarke slammed her hand over her eyes and yelled, “Whoa! I’m sorry!” She stumbled backward, nearly tripping over a chair as Raven scrambled up, hastily pulling a blanket around herself, cheeks flushed crimson. Anya fumbled to pull her clothes back on, her face equally red.

“Clarke!” Raven said breathlessly, avoiding eye contact as she quickly tried to cover herself. 

Clarke swallowed hard, trying to recover from the shock. “Right, yeah. I’ll just give you some privacy,” she said quickly before retreating, closing the door gently behind her.

Trying to shake the unexpected image from her mind, Clarke made her way down the hall to Octavia’s room. She paused at the door, reminded not to just barge in like before. She knocked firmly.

“Come in!” Octavia called.

Clarke pushed the door open and stepped inside, grateful for the familiar presence.

Clarke shook her head with a small, embarrassed smile. “You won’t believe what I just walked into at Raven’s room,” she said, lowering her voice. “They were… well, in the middle of it.”

Octavia laughed, throwing her head back. “Welcome to Polis. Same thing happened to me yesterday. Apparently, privacy isn’t really a thing here.”

Clarke chuckled, feeling some of the tension ease away. Then she hesitated before diving in. “I need to tell you about Lexa. Everything that happened between us.” She took a deep breath and began recounting every detail, needing to get it all out.

Octavia settled onto her bed, her expression thoughtful as Clarke recounted the moment she confronted Lexa about avoiding her.

“So when you finally said it, asked why she’d been avoiding you, what happened?” Octavia prompted, leaning forward.

Clarke swallowed, the memory vivid. “She was caught off guard. I think she wasn’t expecting me to be so direct. Then, before I could say much more, she reached out and kissed me. It was… intense. Like she was trying to say everything she couldn’t put into words.”

Octavia’s eyes sparkled with surprise and a little teasing. “Wow. That’s not subtle.”

Clarke smiled faintly, shaking her head. “No, it wasn’t. But it made everything even more confusing. Because after that, she pulled away and said we were getting too close and that love was weakness.”

Octavia sighed. “Sounds like Lexa’s fighting her own demons. But that kiss? It means something. Maybe more than she’s ready to admit.”

Clarke nodded slowly, feeling the weight of it all. “Yeah. It means a lot. And I’m not ready to give up on it.”

Octavia smiled, a knowing glint in her eyes. “I told you.”

Clarke rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small grin. “Yeah, yeah. You were right.”

—

The morning sun poured gently through the tall windows of Clarke’s quarters as a soft knock echoed against the wooden door. Still in her robe, Clarke set down her brush and moved to answer it. When she opened the door, a tall figure stood at attention. Broad-shouldered, stoic, with warm, dark eyes and distinct tattoos marking his forehead and jaw.

He offered a polite nod. “Heda sent me. I’m Lincoln, of Trikru. Assigned to guard you.”

Clarke blinked at him, slightly taken aback by how different he looked from the usual guards. Less armored, more… grounded.

“I’m Clarke,” she replied with a small smile. “Thank you for doing this.”

Lincoln gave a single, respectful dip of his head before glancing over Clarke’s shoulder to see someone lounging in a chair, boot propped up on a nearby table. Octavia.

She looked up, and their eyes locked. Lincoln froze a moment longer than he should have, clearly caught off guard. Octavia, eyebrow raised and smirking slightly, stood and approached.

“I see the Commander has good taste in guards,” she teased, arms crossed but tone playful. “Octavia. Of Skaikru.”

Lincoln’s gaze lingered on her, something unreadable flickering in his eyes before he responded, “Lincoln. Trikru.” Then, a pause. “It’s… good to meet you.”

Clarke looked between the two of them, catching the subtle tension. The kind that wasn’t threatening, but promising something else entirely. She smirked as she stepped back into her room leaving them to each other. 

—

Lexa knocked softly, almost uncertainly, on Clarke’s door. The tap was so light that Clarke nearly missed it, but something in her gut pulled her toward it. She opened it slowly, surprised when she saw Lexa. Not in her usual armor, not even in her formal attire. She was disheveled, her hair down and loose, wearing the soft linen clothes Clarke had only seen once before, the ones Lexa wore to sleep.

“Lexa?” Clarke asked, concern flickering in her voice. “What’s wrong?”

Lexa didn’t answer. She stepped past her, brushing by with a storm in her eyes, and Clarke quietly shut the door behind her. The silence between them pressed down heavily, full of unspoken tension.

Lexa turned to her suddenly. “Why?” she asked, voice low but sharp.

Clarke furrowed her brow. “Why what?”

“Why did you tell me all that?” Lexa snapped, then softened almost immediately, her tone cracking. “That you were considering staying, that you’ve grown fond of me, that this might be something real. It was easier before. When I thought you didn’t want this, I could pretend I didn’t either. I could keep my distance.”

Her voice wavered, and for the first time, Clarke saw Lexa not as a commander but as a woman torn open, vulnerable.

Clarke stepped closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “And now?”

Lexa looked at her for a long moment. “Now I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Before Clarke could respond, Lexa crossed the space between them and kissed her.

It wasn’t soft or tentative like before. It was desperate, full of the weight of weeks of restraint and unspoken desire. Clarke melted into it, hands gripping Lexa’s sides as she kissed her back with equal fervor.

They pulled apart slowly, breaths mingling in the quiet space between them. Clarke’s chest rose and fell as she tried to steady herself, her lips still tingling from the kiss.

“What… what do you mean?” Clarke asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lexa held her gaze. “I’m sending everyone else home.”

Clarke blinked, surprised. “What?”

Lexa nodded, her expression serious now. “The others. The remaining contenders. I’m ending the selection.”

Clarke stepped back a little, processing, her arms crossing instinctively. “Lexa… if you’re doing this because of what just happened, or what I said…”

“I’m doing this because I’ve already made my choice,” Lexa cut in gently.

Clarke hesitated, then looked away, her thoughts spiraling. “It’s okay… if you want to consider other options. I know you were fond of that girl from Trikru. The redhead. I saw you with her.”

Lexa stepped closer, shaking her head. “None of them compare to you.”

Clarke looked back up, her eyes searching Lexa’s face.

“I tried,” Lexa admitted, her voice low and honest. “I tried to keep my distance. I tried to treat this like politics, like duty. But with you… it’s never just been that.”

Silence settled again, heavy but no longer tense.

“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” Lexa said. “I just needed you to know.”

Clarke swallowed hard, heart pounding in her chest. “I already did.”

Chapter 8: Eight

The morning sun streamed through the tall windows of Clarke’s chambers, casting warm light across the parchment spread out before her. She sat at her desk, a steaming mug of tea beside her, the tip of her pen hovering as she searched for the right words.

Her script began carefully, thoughtfully, as she penned a letter addressed to her mother.

Mom,

A lot has happened since my last letter. More than I expected when I first agreed to this. I came here with every intention of making it out unchosen, unbound, and back home with my dignity intact. I didn’t think I’d be writing this next part.

She paused, glancing at the closed door as if the memory of the night before might drift through it.

Lexa chose me. She will soon dismiss the other contenders. I wasn’t expecting that, not after everything. But she chose me… and I said yes.

Clarke set the pen down for a moment, blowing gently on the ink to let it dry before continuing.

I know this isn’t what we talked about. I know you wanted me safe, far from politics and schemes and war. But Mom, I’ve grown fond of her. Deeply. She’s not just a leader. She’s Lexa. Strong, principled, infuriating sometimes, but honest. She sees me, really sees me, and I didn’t think I’d find that here.

Her fingers clenched slightly at the edge of the page, emotions stirring as she pushed forward.

She also wants me to be Skaikru’s ambassador, to build a real bridge between us and the coalition. If I agree, I’ll be able to move between Polis and Arkadia freely. I could do real good from here, and I think that’s worth considering.

I miss you. I miss home. But I think I’ve found something worth staying for.

She signed her name with care, then folded the letter, sealing it with wax. Setting it aside, Clarke leaned back in her chair, staring out at the city below her window.

Everything was changing, but for once, it didn’t feel like the ground was crumbling beneath her. It felt like it was settling.

—

Lexa stood tall in the candlelit war room, the crackling of the hearth the only sound as Titus entered. He bowed his head respectfully, his eyes searching her expression for any indication of what this summons was about.

“I’ve made my decision,” Lexa said calmly, hands clasped behind her back.

Titus lifted his gaze, a flicker of tension crossing his face. “You’ve chosen?”

“I have,” she confirmed. “Clarke of Skaikru.”

There was a beat of silence. Titus blinked, clearly surprised. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, as though trying to gather the right words.

“I see,” he finally said, slowly. “You are certain this is a wise choice? The timing… with tensions high, with Azgeda stirring unrest, and Skaikru still seen as outsiders by many?”

Lexa didn’t flinch. “It’s precisely because of the tension that I believe it is the right choice. A marriage between us would solidify Skaikru’s place in the coalition, establish lasting peace. The other clans would have to accept it.”

Titus frowned. “And the risk? Of alienating the clans who already question your unity with them? Who do not trust Skaikru or the girl?”

Lexa stepped forward, eyes sharp. “Clarke has proven herself. Time and time again. She is strong, intelligent, and capable of leading beside me. This is not a decision made lightly, Titus. It is done.”

He nodded slowly, reluctantly. “Then I will support you, as I always have,” he said, but the hesitation in his voice was unmistakable.

Lexa watched him go, jaw tightening. She knew not everyone would agree with her choice. But for once, her heart and her judgment were aligned and she would not be moved.

—

Clarke was still tangled in her sheets when the soft knock came at her door. The sun was barely up, casting a pale light through the windows. She groaned softly, rubbing her eyes as she sat up.

A moment later, the door creaked open, and Lincoln peeked in.

“Clarke,” he said, voice low, “Abigail of Skaikru is here.”

Clarke blinked, her mind still catching up with the words. “What?”

He stepped back to allow the visitor entry.

Clarke scrambled out of bed, grabbing her robe as the door opened wider to reveal her mother standing in the hallway, her face taut with concern and purpose.

“Mom?” Clarke breathed, moving forward quickly.

They embraced tightly, Clarke burying her face into her mother’s shoulder as a rush of emotions surged through her. She pulled back just enough to look at Abby.

“What are you doing here?”

Abby’s eyes flicked toward Lincoln, silently asking for privacy. Clarke caught the gesture and nodded.

“It’s okay, Lincoln,” she said. “You can go.”

He nodded and backed away, closing the door behind him.

As soon as they were alone, the warmth in Abby’s expression began to fade, replaced by something firmer.

“You were not sent here to be chosen as someone’s wife,” Abby said plainly, her voice controlled but edged with frustration. “You were sent to forge alliances.”

Clarke’s brows pulled together. “And I have. I just didn’t expect that forging an alliance would mean falling for the person on the other side of it.”

Abby crossed her arms, her gaze sharp. “Clarke, this isn’t what we agreed to. You were supposed to observe, report, advocate. Not get involved.”

Clarke’s jaw tightened. “You sent me here against my will, remember? You handed me over like I was a pawn on a chessboard.”

Abby flinched slightly, but Clarke didn’t stop.

“So no,” Clarke continued. “This wasn’t part of the plan. But for the first time since being forced into this, I made a choice for myself. Not for you. Not for Polis. For Skaikru and for me.”

Abby shook her head, not out of denial but disapproval. “You’re still a political figure, Clarke. No matter how personal this feels, it will always come with consequences.”

Clarke stepped back, her voice quieter but unwavering. “Then let the consequences come. Because this, what I’m building with Lexa, it wasn’t forged by politics. Even if it benefits the coalition, that’s not why I chose it.”

Abby looked at her for a long moment, her features torn between motherly concern and political instinct.

“You’re serious about this,” she finally said.

Clarke nodded. “I am.”

A silence stretched between them. Then Abby exhaled, her expression softening, though uncertainty still lingered in her eyes.

“Then I hope you’re ready for what comes next.”

Clarke blinked, trying to process everything from their last exchange, but she forced herself to focus. She waved off Abby’s last statement.

“How are the issues with Azgeda?” she asked, needing to shift gears, needing something tangible to ground her.

Abby sighed, the tension returning to her posture. “They’re… going. We’ve increased patrols along the borders. But it’s still tense. No signs of open attacks since the last incident, but the pressure’s there. Everyone feels it.”

Clarke nodded slowly, lips pressed together. She was about to ask another question when she noticed the way Abby’s hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, the hesitation building in her eyes.

“What is it?” Clarke asked, a creeping sense of dread beginning to take hold. “Mom?”

Abby swallowed hard, then gestured gently toward the nearby couch. “You should sit down.”

Clarke’s heart skipped. She lowered herself slowly, bracing for something she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear.

Abby sat beside her. “One of the three casualties from the last Azgeda skirmish… it was Finn.”

The world stopped.

Clarke stared at her, unmoving. The words felt foreign, like a language she only half understood.

“Finn…” she whispered.

Her mind flooded with images. Messy brown hair, the crooked grin, the boy who had once held her hand through the wreckage of everything. Who helped her rediscover strength when she had none. Who told her she had a place here, even when she didn’t believe it herself.

He was gone.

“No,” she breathed. “Why wasn’t I told this sooner?”

“I wanted you to hear it from me,” Abby said gently. “Not from Bellamy. Not through a report. I needed to tell you myself.”

Clarke’s hands curled into fists, her chest tight. “Does Raven know?”

Abby hesitated. “No. Not yet.”

Clarke closed her eyes, willing the emotions to stay in check, but they surged forward anyway. “Has there been a funeral?”

“It’s being arranged,” Abby said. “They’re holding it at the end of this week.”

Clarke nodded, eyes glassy but no tears fell. “I’ll speak with Lexa. I’ll return for it.”

Abby reached forward, placing a gentle hand on Clarke’s knee. “I’m sorry.”

Clarke didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

Abby stood, understanding that her daughter needed space. “I’ll head back to Arkadia. I’ll see you soon.”

Clarke stood slowly and pulled her mother into a tight hug. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I’ll be there.”

Abby held her for a long moment, then let go and quietly left the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

Clarke stood in silence, staring at the empty space her mother had just filled.

Finn was gone.

—

Clarke didn’t think. She just ran.

The halls of the palace blurred past her. Her heart thundered in her chest louder than her footsteps against stone. She barely registered the guards she passed or the startled glances cast her way.

She reached Raven’s door and didn’t bother knocking. She burst through, eyes already brimming.

Anya was there, sitting lazily at the edge of Raven’s bed with a half-buttoned tunic and a sly smile that immediately faded when she saw Clarke’s expression.

“Out,” Clarke said sharply, voice trembling.

Anya blinked, surprised. “Excuse me?”

“I said out,” Clarke snapped, barely holding it together. “Now.”

“Clarke,” Raven started, but her voice faltered the second she saw her face. She stood, instantly alert, and reached out instinctively. “Anya, give us a minute.”

Anya glanced between them, concern replacing the teasing edge in her eyes. She nodded once, brushing past Clarke with a lingering look before slipping out the door.

Raven closed it behind her, then turned back. “Clarke… what is it?”

Clarke could barely form the words. Her throat was tight, her chest caving inward. “It’s Finn.”

Raven stiffened. “What about him?”

Clarke swallowed the lump that rose like bile. “The attack on the tade route. With the three casualties. One of them was Finn.”

The silence was deafening.

Raven stared at her like she hadn’t heard right, like the world had tilted on its axis and gravity had forgotten how to work. Her lips parted, but no sound came.

“No,” she said, so softly it was barely audible.

“I just found out,” Clarke said, stepping closer. “My mom came to tell me in person. She didn’t want me to hear it from someone else. They’re planning the funeral this weekend. I’m going to talk to Lexa. We’ll return for it.”

Raven shook her head slowly, as if trying to wake from a dream. “That can’t be right. He just radioed a week ago. He was fine.”

Clarke’s voice cracked. “He’s gone, Raven.”

Raven let out a choked breath and sat down heavily on the edge of her bed. Her hands shook as they clutched her knees. “He was my,” she broke off, unable to say the word. “We grew up together. He was everything before all this.”

Clarke knelt in front of her. “I know. He loved you so much.”

Tears welled in Raven’s eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She stared past Clarke, lost in a thousand memories. Old laughter, shared stories, the kind of comfort only time and pain could forge.

After a long moment, Raven whispered, “He deserved better than this.”

Clarke nodded, her voice barely audible. “He did.”

The silence between them wasn’t empty. It was heavy. Full of mourning, of lost possibilities, of all the things that would never be said.

“I’ll make sure we can go back,” Clarke said quietly. “You deserve to say goodbye.”

Raven nodded numbly, and Clarke reached up, squeezing her hand.

Neither of them said another word. They didn’t need to.

—

After spending time with Raven, holding her through waves of quiet grief and unshed tears, Clarke stepped out into the cool corridor of the palace, her chest tight and her thoughts heavy. She didn’t stop to change or rest. There was one more thing she needed to do. She made her way toward the commander’s study.

Lexa was finishing a meeting when Clarke arrived. Through the open door, she could see the Floukru ambassador bowing his head respectfully before turning to leave. As the ambassador stepped past her, Clarke stood silently, her arms crossed tightly against herself.

Lexa looked up and saw her. The moment their eyes met, the shift in Lexa’s expression was immediate. Gone was the poised Commander, replaced by someone concerned, someone who could see the storm written all over Clarke’s face. She nodded, dismissing the ambassador fully, then stepped aside.

“You can come in,” she said gently.

Clarke stepped inside, the door closing softly behind her.

Lexa took one look at her and asked, “Are you alright?”

Clarke shook her head. “No,” she said, her voice already starting to crack. “One of the casualties from the trade route attack was someone close to me. Finn. He was my friend. He was Raven’s best friend. My first…” She trailed off, swallowing hard. “I need to return to Arkadia. Just for the funeral. Raven needs to be there too. I came to ask—”

But she didn’t finish.

Lexa stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her without a second thought. Clarke collapsed into the embrace, holding on tightly, her fingers digging into the fabric of Lexa’s tunic like she might fall apart otherwise.

“I’m so sorry,” Lexa murmured, resting her chin lightly atop Clarke’s head. “You shouldn’t have had to hear that like this.”

Clarke breathed deeply, holding her close.

After a quiet moment, Lexa pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “We’ll leave in the morning,” she said.

Clarke blinked. “We?”

Lexa nodded. “Yes. I’m coming with you.”

The weight of that statement settled between them. Clarke searched her face, looking for the catch, but there was none. Just sincerity. Just support. Just Lexa.

Lexa gently brushed a strand of hair behind Clarke’s ear. “You don’t have to face this alone.”

Clarke’s voice was soft. “Thank you.”

—

They packed up the rover early the next morning. The sky was still gray with sleep as the group prepared to leave Polis behind, if only for a few days. Octavia slid into the driver’s seat, always eager to be in control of the vehicle, while Raven climbed into the back and was fast asleep before they even made it past the outer gates. Clarke and Lexa settled in beside her.

The road stretched out long and quiet. Trees blurred past the windows as they traveled the familiar route back to Arkadia. For a while, there was only the hum of the engine and the occasional bump of the road. Then Lexa turned to Clarke.

“May I ask you something?” her voice was quiet so as not to wake Raven.

Clarke nodded. “Of course.”

Lexa studied her for a moment, then asked, “Was Finn a lover?”

Clarke blinked, the question catching her off guard. She opened her mouth, closed it again, then sighed. “He was,” she admitted. “It was before… all of this. Before I even came here.”

Lexa nodded slowly, her expression unreadable.

Clarke rushed to explain, “He was a good person. He cared deeply for the people he loved. He’s one of the reasons I even agreed to come to Polis in the first place. He believed in the coalition, in peace between us. He gave me the push I needed.”

Lexa looked at her carefully. “You don’t have to explain. Chastity is not expected in Polis. You would not be shamed or removed as a contender for it.”

Clarke relaxed a little, offering a small smile. “Thank you.”

Lexa returned it, a rare softness in her features. “It is a genuine loss. He sounds like someone who would have made a strong ally to the coalition.”

Clarke looked out the window, watching the trees roll by. “He would have.”

—

They arrived in Arkadia under the cover of night, the sky dusted with stars and the air thick with exhaustion. The hum of the rover quieted as it rolled to a stop just outside the gates, the familiar sound drawing the attention of the guards stationed there. Bellamy was already waiting, pacing near the entrance. As soon as he caught sight of them, he moved forward quickly.

Octavia was the first to climb down, and Bellamy pulled her into a tight embrace without a word. Their reunion didn’t need one—too much had happened, too much was left unsaid. Raven followed, still bleary-eyed from the drive, but Bellamy wrapped an arm around her anyway, grounding her in the moment.

Then came Clarke.

The second he saw her, Bellamy’s face shifted, concern, grief, and affection all battling for dominance in his expression. He pulled her into a firm, familiar hug, and Clarke held on tightly. 

Lexa stepped down from the rover last, and for a moment, there was a beat of silence as Bellamy regarded her. They had met before, but never like this. Not with so much history carved into the space between them. Bellamy gave her a small nod, respectful but wary. Lexa returned it with the same quiet strength she always carried, and nothing more needed to be said.

They moved inside the estate together, the group of them worn down by the day, by the miles, by the grief that hung over them like a stormcloud. Clarke walked the halls with a calm certainty. She didn’t need guards here. She knew every creaking floorboard, every corner shadow. And more importantly, she had Lexa beside her now. No one would dare approach.

As they walked, Clarke pointed out the small changes made to the estate since she left. A new door, repaired molding on the banisters, fresh tapestries from Trikru trade. Lexa listened, her eyes taking in everything with a quiet reverence, as though trying to understand what shaped the girl beside her.

Eventually, Clarke stopped in front of a door. She turned the handle and pushed it open, revealing a room cast in the soft glow of moonlight. Her old bedroom. The walls were the same pale color, the shelves still held a few dusty books and trinkets, and the bed, small but comfortable, sat neatly made as if waiting for her return.

“We’ll be staying here,” Clarke said, stepping aside to let Lexa in.

Lexa hesitated just a moment at the threshold, her gaze drifting over the bed, the space. “We?” she asked, her voice softer than usual.

Clarke turned toward her, lips tugging upward in a tired smile. “Yes,” she said, brushing her fingers over the edge of the bed. “We’re fiancées now, are we not?”

For a second, Lexa didn’t respond. The weight of that word, fiancées, hung heavy between them. It was one thing to say it for diplomacy, for show. But this… this felt real. In this room where Clarke grew up, surrounded by memories and the scent of old books and lavender, it felt like a promise.

Lexa stepped forward, closing the space between them. She gently touched Clarke’s arm, then leaned in to press a tender kiss to her temple. “Yes,” she whispered against her skin, and it wasn’t just an answer. It was an affirmation.

Clarke closed her eyes, the tension in her shoulders softening as she leaned into the kiss. For the first time since hearing about Finn, since the news shook her world, she felt something other than grief. She felt grounded. Safe.

They didn’t say anything more for a while. Clarke busied herself with unpacking what little she brought, placing a few belongings on the old desk by the window. Lexa sat on the edge of the bed, observing quietly, until Clarke joined her.

They lay together that night in the narrow bed, close and quiet. Clarke rested her head on Lexa’s shoulder, and Lexa held her like she was something precious, something rare.

Tomorrow would bring the funeral arrangements, hard conversations, and the pain of saying goodbye.

Chapter 9: Nine

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the Arkadia clearing where the funeral pyre had been constructed. Logs and dried brush had been carefully arranged beneath a raised wooden platform, and atop it lay Finn’s body, wrapped in a simple white shroud. Flowers rested on his chest, and his favorite jacket had been folded beneath his hands.

Clarke stood quietly near the front of the gathered crowd, the flames not yet lit but anticipation hanging heavy in the air. Raven stood beside her, arms crossed tightly over her chest, jaw clenched. Octavia and Lincoln were close by, speaking softly with Kane and a few others. Lexa stood just behind Clarke, a steady, silent presence. She wore her dark cloak, the one she rarely used outside of formal Grounder rituals. It was her way of showing respect.

Clarke’s heart ached. The heat of grief pulsed inside her chest, even though the fire hadn’t been lit yet.

She turned slightly as she heard her name.

“Clarke.”

Harper approached with slow steps, her eyes red from tears. She offered Clarke a sad, understanding smile before stepping in and wrapping her arms around her in a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry,” Harper said quietly. “I know how much he meant to you.”

Clarke nodded, barely able to speak. “He… he believed in all of this. In peace. In us.”

Harper gave her a gentle squeeze before stepping away to take her seat. Clarke turned back to the pyre, eyes fixed on the shrouded figure.

Kane stepped forward to open the ceremony. He spoke of Finn’s loyalty, of his belief in hope even when others had lost theirs. Then Abby spoke, as both chancellor and mother. She talked about how Finn had been one of the first to bridge the divide between Skaikru and the Grounders. How he had led with his heart, sometimes recklessly, but always with purpose.

Then, Clarke was called to speak.

She stepped up slowly, her boots soft against the grass. Her voice was quiet at first, but clear.

“Finn… Finn was the kind of person who never gave up on you,” she said. “Even when you gave up on yourself. He saw the best in people. He believed we could build something better. A future. A life without constant war.”

She paused, her eyes locked on the figure on the pyre.

“He wasn’t perfect. None of us are. But he loved deeply. He was brave. And when I left to come here, it was his voice in my head telling me to try. To trust. To believe that something more was possible.”

She took a slow breath, her voice softening. “He was my first love. And he’ll always be a part of me.”

Then Clarke stepped closer to the pyre. The sun now touched the horizon, casting a rich orange hue across the clearing. She looked around at the crowd, at Raven, Octavia, Abby, and finally at Lexa before speaking the traditional Skaikru farewell.

“In peace may you find the shore. In love may you find the next. Safe pass on your travels until our final journey on the ground. May we meet again.”

She stepped back. Octavia moved forward with a torch, offering Clarke a quiet nod before touching the flame to the edge of the pyre.

The fire caught quickly, dry wood crackling, smoke curling into the sky.

The crowd remained silent as the flames grew. Raven stood still, not blinking, her hand tight in Clarke’s. Tears streamed silently down her cheeks, but she didn’t move. Clarke reached out and gently put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in.

Lexa stood beside them, respectful and solemn. When Clarke glanced her way, Lexa nodded slightly, her expression unreadable but full of understanding.

As the fire consumed the last physical part of who Finn was, Clarke whispered again, only to the flames:

“Until we meet again.”

They stayed until only glowing embers remained, and the stars had begun to appear above them.

It wasn’t closure. But it was goodbye.

—

The days following Finn’s funeral passed like a thick fog.

Clarke moved through them quietly, drifting from one room to another in the Arkadia estate, a ghost among familiar walls. The weight of grief pulled at her, but she didn’t let herself stop. She painted, large, moody strokes that bled into one another. She read old journals and books she’d left behind. And she walked the grounds as she used to when she was younger, retracing the paths of childhood, hoping they’d lead her back to something solid inside herself.

Lexa never left her far. She didn’t crowd, didn’t press. But she lingered just close enough, always within reach. Some days Clarke barely spoke, and still Lexa would be there, offering quiet companionship or a gentle hand on her shoulder. It helped more than Clarke let on.

That afternoon, the air was warm and the breeze soft. Clarke found herself wandering toward the lake behind the estate, the one hidden deep beyond the trees and surrounded by tall wild grass and reeds. She hadn’t been here in years, not since before the Ark had fallen. The water shimmered, peaceful and still.

Lexa followed, not saying much, her sword strapped loosely to her back.

Clarke kicked off her shoes at the water’s edge, shedding her tunic and pants until she stood in her undergarments. The sun warmed her bare shoulders as she stepped into the cool lake. She waded out, the water coming up to her hips, then her waist. It felt good, clean and grounding. She dunked her head, hair slicking back, breath hitching as the cold bit at her skin.

Behind her, Lexa stood stiffly, eyes darting away. She’d turned her back toward the woods, arms crossed, trying not to stare, but she wasn’t immune. Her eyes flicked sideways, just once, catching Clarke as she emerged from the water, droplets clinging to her golden skin, her chest rising and falling as she took a deep breath.

Lexa’s throat bobbed. She looked away.

“You’re terrible at pretending you’re not looking,” Clarke called, half amused.

Lexa blinked and turned back around, straightening. “I was making sure you weren’t in danger.”

Clarke arched a brow. “From the fish?”

Lexa cleared her throat. “You never know.”

Clarke smiled faintly, the first genuine one in days. Her expression softened, her voice gentle but teasing. “Are you going to join me or just stand there guarding the tree line?”

Lexa hesitated, torn between duty and desire, between restraint and the obvious pull toward Clarke’s easy grin and bare, dripping shoulders. She glanced down at her armor, then back at Clarke.

“Come on,” Clarke said, floating lazily backward with a splash. “You could use a swim.”

Lexa didn’t answer right away, but she was already unfastening the clasp on her shoulder plate.

Lexa stepped into the water slowly, the cool surface wrapping around her ankles, then her calves, until she was waist-deep. Clarke watched her with a soft, curious expression as Lexa finally dunked beneath the water, surfacing with her hair slicked back, eyes closed briefly against the sun.

They settled near one another, not quite touching. The only sounds were the gentle lapping of water and the occasional bird call in the distance. For a while, they just floated there in the quiet, letting the calm wash over them.

Then Clarke spoke, her voice low. “I knew I’d never marry Finn. Not officially. Not with how things were.”

Lexa looked over, waiting.

Clarke stared out across the lake. “He was lowborn. No alliances, no power. Politically, he made no sense. I think even he knew that.”

“But you loved him,” Lexa said gently.

Clarke nodded. “Yeah. I did.” She swallowed thickly. “He was steady. Kind. He made me feel like I didn’t have to be anything but myself.”

Lexa looked down at the water, letting that sit between them.

After a moment, she asked, “Raven?”

Clarke gave a small, wistful smile. “They grew up together. Childhood sweethearts. First loves. They were good together for a long time.” She paused. “Eventually they grew apart. But they never stopped being each other’s family.”

Lexa considered that. “And you?”

Clarke sighed. “I came into the picture after. But he never made me feel like a replacement. Just… something new. Something real.”

Lexa was quiet, respectful. “He sounds like someone worth mourning.”

“He was.” Clarke turned to face her fully. “But I’m still here. And I’m still choosing what’s next.”

Their eyes held. The moment stretched, tender and unresolved. The lake around them seemed to hold its breath.

Clarke reaches up and kisses Lexa, her hands slipping around her neck, pulling her closer until their bodies pressed together. The kiss was heated, charged with weeks of tension and unspoken feelings. Clarke’s hands moved instinctively, exploring the lines of Lexa’s back, the curve of her waist, drawing quiet gasps from the commander’s lips.

Lexa let out a soft groan of approval, one hand gripping Clarke’s hip while the other tangled in her wet hair. But then Clarke felt it, something firm pressing against her. Her breath hitched slightly in surprise, not from discomfort, but from the confirmation.

Raven had been right. The rumors were true.

Lexa suddenly pulled back, her expression shifting from passion to panic. She stepped away, the water rippling between them, and looked down as if ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, voice low. “I didn’t mean—”

“Lexa,” Clarke interrupted, gently, firmly. She moved forward again, closing the distance, placing her hands on Lexa’s shoulders. “I already know.”

Lexa’s eyes flicked up to meet hers, uncertain.

Clarke smiled softly. “And I don’t care. I meant it when I said I wanted you. All of you.”

Lexa’s breath caught and her shoulders relaxed just slightly. The tension between them melted into the water, replaced with something deeper, understanding, acceptance, and the slow, undeniable pull of something real.

Clarke’s hands slid down Lexa’s shoulders, feeling the taut muscles beneath her skin. Lexa’s hands, in turn, gripped Clarke’s waist, pulling her closer until their bodies pressed together, the water sluicing between them. The warmth of their skin contrasted with the coolness of the lake, sending shivers down Clarke’s spine.

Lexa’s tongue flicked against Clarke’s bottom lip, seeking entry, and Clarke opened for her, a soft moan escaping her throat. Their tongues met, hot and eager, and Clarke’s fingers tangled in Lexa’s damp hair, pulling her closer still. The sensation of Lexa’s body against hers, so solid and commanding, made Clarke’s heart race.

Breaking the kiss for just a moment, Lexa’s lips trailed down Clarke’s neck, nipping and sucking at the tender skin. Clarke tilted her head back, her breath hitching as Lexa’s teeth grazed her collarbone. “Lexa,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need.

Lexa’s hands moved lower, slipping beneath the waistband of Clarke’s shorts, and Clarke gasped at the sudden contact. Lexa’s fingers were warm against her skin, teasing her through the thin fabric of her underwear. Clarke’s hips bucked instinctively, seeking more friction, more pressure.

“Do you want this?” Lexa murmured, her lips brushing against Clarke’s ear as her fingers stilled.

“Yes,” Clarke breathed, her hands gripping Lexa’s shoulders. “God, yes.”

Lexa’s fingers dipped beneath the fabric, her fingertips brushing against Clarke’s heat, and Clarke’s knees nearly buckled. Lexa’s touch was firm and sure, her fingers sliding through Clarke’s wetness, teasing her entrance. “You’re so wet for me,” Lexa murmured, her voice low and husky.

Clarke’s hips moved against Lexa’s hand, seeking more, seeking everything. Lexa’s fingers slipped inside her, and Clarke’s breath caught in her throat. Lexa’s thumb circled her clit as her fingers moved in and out, setting a relentless rhythm that had Clarke’s head spinning.

“Lexa,” Clarke moaned, her fingers digging into Lexa’s shoulders as pleasure coiled tight in her belly.

Lexa’s lips found Clarke’s again, swallowing her moans as her fingers worked Clarke’s body, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Clarke’s orgasm hit her hard, waves of pleasure crashing over her as she cried out against Lexa’s lips.

When the tremors subsided, Lexa pulled her fingers from Clarke’s body, and Clarke whimpered at the loss. Lexa’s hands moved to her own waistband, and Clarke watched as she shed her shorts, revealing the hard length of her cock.

Clarke’s breath hitched as Lexa stepped closer, her cock brushing against Clarke’s stomach. Lexa’s hands settled on Clarke’s hips, guiding her backward until Clarke’s back was pressed against the smooth rock of the lakeshore.

“Are you sure?” Lexa asked, her voice low and gravelly.

Clarke nodded, her eyes locked on Lexa’s. “I’m sure.”

Lexa’s hands guided Clarke’s legs around her waist, and Clarke gasped as the tip of Lexa’s cock pressed against her entrance. Lexa’s hips rocked forward, sliding inside Clarke in one smooth motion, and Clarke’s head fell back against the rock as pleasure shot through her.

Lexa’s hands gripped Clarke’s hips as she began to move, her thrusts slow and deliberate at first, then faster, harder. Clarke’s nails dug into Lexa’s shoulders as she met each thrust, their bodies moving together in perfect rhythm.

The water lapped at their skin as Lexa’s cock filled Clarke, stretching her, claiming her. Clarke’s breath came in short, sharp gasps, her body trembling with the intensity of it. Lexa’s lips found Clarke’s neck, nipping and sucking as her hips pistoned forward, driving Clarke closer and closer to the edge.

“Lexa,” Clarke moaned, her fingers threading through Lexa’s hair. “I’m close.”

Lexa’s thrusts grew more erratic, her rhythm faltering as she neared her own release. “I’m going to pull out,” Lexa gasped, her voice strained.

“No,” Clarke said, her hands tightening in Lexa’s hair. “You don’t have to. I’m protected.”

Lexa’s hips stilled for a moment, her eyes searching Clarke’s face. “You’re sure?”

Clarke nodded, her breath hitching. “Yes. Please, Lexa.”

Lexa’s hips jerked forward, and Clarke cried out as Lexa’s cock pulsed inside her, spilling hot and deep. The sensation pushed Clarke over the edge, her body convulsing as pleasure tore through her.

Lexa’s forehead rested against Clarke’s shoulder as they both came down from their highs, their breaths ragged and uneven. The water lapped gently at their skin, and Clarke’s fingers trailed lazily down Lexa’s back.

“That was…” Clarke began, but words failed her.

Lexa lifted her head, her eyes dark and intense. “Amazing,” she finished, her lips curving into a smile.

Clarke nodded, her legs still trembling around Lexa’s waist. “Amazing.”

Lexa’s hands cupped Clarke’s face, her thumbs brushing lightly over her cheeks. “You’re incredible,” she murmured, her lips brushing against Clarke’s.

Clarke smiled against Lexa’s lips, her heart swelling with something she couldn’t quite name. “So are you.”

Lexa’s lips captured Clarke’s in a soft, lingering kiss, and Clarke’s fingers tangled in Lexa’s hair, pulling her closer. The water around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Clarke and Lexa climbed out of the lake, water dripping from their skin as they grabbed towels. Clarke fumbled nervously with the fabric, her cheeks flushed a deep pink. Her hands trembled slightly as she tried to dry her hair and slip back into her clothes, stealing shy glances at Lexa.

Lexa watched her with an amused smile, the soft chuckle escaping her lips breaking the quiet. She stepped closer and pressed a quick, warm kiss to Clarke’s forehead.

“You’re a flustered mess,” Lexa teased gently.

Clarke blinked, biting her lip but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Maybe I am.”

Lexa’s eyes softened as she reached out, brushing a stray wet strand of hair from Clarke’s face. “Good,” she whispered, her tone both tender and playful.

—

Clarke padded quietly into her chambers, her hair still damp from the lake and her skin warm from the late afternoon sun. She was hoping for a quick shower before anyone saw her looking so blatantly disheveled.

But as she pushed the door open, she froze.

Raven was lounging comfortably on her bed, arms crossed behind her head, one leg propped over the other. Her smirk was immediate. “Well, well, well,” she said, sitting up slowly, eyes narrowing with playful suspicion. “You’ve got the look.”

Clarke blinked. “What look?”

Raven raised an eyebrow. “The post ‘I just got thoroughly wrecked by the Commander’ look.”

Clarke opened her mouth to argue but immediately closed it again, her face giving her away.

Raven gasped, dramatically clutching her chest. “No way. Clarke!”

Clarke let out a groan, covering her face with both hands. “Can you not announce it like that?”

Raven squealed, bouncing on the bed. “You did it. You and Lexa finally—ugh, tell me everything. Was it good? Actually, don’t answer that. Of course it was. But also, was it?”

Clarke laughed despite herself, cheeks burning. “It was amazing.”

Raven wiggled her eyebrows. “And the rumors?”

Clarke gave her a pointed look, then nodded. “Very much true.”

Raven let out a gleeful noise, grinning ear to ear. “I knew it.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow at Raven, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do I have your permission to shower now?”

Raven laughed, already heading for the door. “Yes, go. But just know I’m absolutely telling Octavia.”

“Of course you are,” Clarke muttered with a playful glare as Raven slipped out, still giggling to herself.

Clarke shook her head and headed for the shower, letting the warm water rinse off the remnants of the lake and the heat that still lingered on her skin. She took her time, letting the steam clear her thoughts. Or at least try to.

When she stepped back into her room, towel wrapped snugly around her, she came to a sudden halt.

Lexa was sitting on the edge of her bed, waiting.

Clarke blinked, surprised. “How long have you been here?”

Lexa didn’t answer. Her eyes scanned slowly over Clarke’s form, and a smirk tugged at her lips. “Long enough.”

Clarke let out a breathy laugh, stepping closer, confidence returning as she caught the flicker of desire in Lexa’s eyes. “You’re staring, Commander.”

“Can you blame me?”

Clarke moved in until she stood between Lexa’s knees. Lexa reached out, grabbing her waist and gently pulling her down onto her lap. Their lips met instantly, hot and demanding, the kiss deep and possessive.

Clarke tangled her fingers in Lexa’s damp hair as Lexa’s hands ran along her back, the towel slipping dangerously.

Lexa let out a quiet huff, reluctantly pulling away from Clarke’s lips. Her voice was low and rough as she said, “You should get dressed. We’re meeting Marcus and Abby… about the engagement.”

Clarke groaned, resting her forehead against Lexa’s. “Can’t we be late?”

Lexa chuckled softly, though her hands lingered on Clarke’s hips. “Tempting. But no.”

Clarke leaned back slightly, a teasing smile curving on her lips. Her eyes dropped between them, then slowly made their way back to Lexa’s. “You might want to deal with that before we go,” she said with a raised brow, clearly amused.

Lexa glanced down, visibly unbothered. “I’ll survive.”

Clarke tilted her head, eyes glinting with mischief. “Will you? Because I’m not so sure I will, seeing you walk into that meeting like that.”

Lexa smirked. “Then stop looking.”

“I’m engaged to you now,” Clarke said, standing up and grabbing her clothes. “I’m allowed to look.”

Lexa’s voice was low as she replied, “And I’m allowed to suffer.”

Clarke laughed softly as she slipped into her dress, still flustered but glowing. “Poor Commander.”

Lexa’s eyes followed her every move. “You have no idea.”

Clarke’s eyes darkened with desire, her lips curling into a wicked smirk. She didn’t say a word, just dropped to her knees in one smooth motion, her hands already tugging at the pants around Lexa’s waist. Lexa’s breath hitched as they fell away, the cool air hitting her heated skin for just a moment before Clarke’s warm hands were on her, stroking her length with a confidence that made Lexa’s knees weak.

Clarke’s eyes never left Lexa’s as she leaned in, her tongue flicking out to lick a stripe up the underside of her cock. Lexa gasped, her hand instinctively reaching out to grip the edge of the sink for support. Clarke’s tongue was soft, wet, and so fucking good as she swirled it around the head of Lexa’s cock, teasing her mercilessly. Lexa’s thighs trembled, her body already on the edge from just that simple touch.

“Clarke, please,” Lexa begged, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn’t care how desperate she sounded, she needed more.

Clarke didn’t make her wait. She opened her mouth, taking Lexa’s cock deep in one smooth motion, her lips wrapping tightly around her. Lexa’s head fell back, a loud moan escaping her lips as she felt Clarke’s warmth envelop her. Clarke’s tongue pressed against the underside of her cock, her head bobbing up and down in a steady rhythm that had Lexa seeing stars.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Lexa chanted, her hips bucking slightly into Clarke’s mouth. Clarke’s hands gripped her thighs, holding her in place as she took her deeper, her throat relaxing around her. Lexa could feel the tightness coiling in her stomach, the pleasure building with every stroke of Clarke’s tongue, every bob of her head. She was close, so close, and Clarke seemed to know it, her pace quickening, her mouth sucking harder.

Lexa’s hand tangled in Clarke’s hair, her fingers gripping tightly as she felt herself teetering on the edge. “Clarke, I’m gonna—“

Clarke didn’t pull away, just hummed around her cock, the vibration sending Lexa spiraling over the edge. Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing as she came, her release spilling into Clarke’s mouth. Clarke swallowed every drop, her tongue lapping at her sensitive cock as she milked her through it, her movements slow and deliberate.

When Lexa finally opened her eyes, her breathing was ragged, her body trembling from the intensity of it all. Clarke was still on her knees, looking up at her with a satisfied smirk, her lips swollen and glistening. Lexa reached down, pulling Clarke to her feet and crashing their lips together in a heated kiss, the taste of herself on Clarke’s tongue only fueling her desire.

“You’re insane,” Lexa murmured against Clarke’s lips, her hands sliding down to cup her ass through the towel.

Clarke grinned, pressing her body against Lexa’s. “You loved it.”

Lexa sighed, brushing her fingers down Clarke’s arm before stepping back. “Go get dressed,” she said gently, her voice still tinged with longing but steadier now.

Clarke smirked at her, grabbing a clean outfit from the chair by the bed. “Yes, Commander,” she teased.

Lexa rolled her eyes, turning away to give her privacy, though she didn’t move far. Clarke dressed quickly, still flushed from their earlier moment but composed as she joined Lexa by the door.

They left the room side by side, walking through the familiar halls of Arkadia. Despite everything, the weight of politics, the loss, the uncertainty, there was a quiet understanding between them. Something solid. Something real.

As they approached the meeting room where Marcus and Abby were waiting, Clarke reached out, brushing her hand briefly against Lexa’s.

Lexa glanced down at her, her expression softening.

“You ready?” Clarke asked quietly.

Lexa nodded. “With you? Always.”

—

The sunlight filtered gently through the high windows of the Arkadia council room. Clarke sat at the round table beside Lexa, her hands resting loosely in her lap, still damp from the morning’s bath. Across from them, Abby sat with a stern, unreadable expression. Beside her, Marcus Kane leaned forward slightly, always the bridge between skepticism and diplomacy.

Lexa’s gaze was calm but firm, her posture as straight as ever. She wore Arkadian clothing to honor Skaikru’s customs, an intentional signal of good faith.

“I appreciate you both meeting us,” Clarke began, her voice steady. “We know the announcement of the engagement was unexpected, but this alliance was forged with care, not impulse.”

“It’s a lot to process,” Abby said carefully. “But we’re listening.”

Marcus nodded. “It’s clear the personal has become political. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

Lexa glanced to Clarke, then back to Marcus. “This union will not only unify our people emotionally, it will reinforce practical cooperation. A marriage between the Commander and Skaikru’s ambassador ensures your place within the Coalition, not as a guest but as family.”

Abby’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What does that actually mean for Arkadia?”

Clarke straightened. “It means we get a permanent seat at the Coalition’s table. A voice in decisions. A say in defense, territory rights, trade routes.”

“And protection,” Lexa added. “Skaikru will fall under the full protection of the Coalition. Any attack on Arkadia will be treated as an attack on the Heda herself.”

Marcus raised his brows, clearly impressed. “That would give us security Azgeda can’t touch.”

Abby folded her arms. “That’s assuming Azgeda honors the Coalition. They’ve already broken treaties.”

Lexa nodded solemnly. “Which is why unifying our fronts is critical. Azgeda won’t risk war if they see Skaikru is no longer isolated. You will not stand alone.”

There was a long pause before Marcus leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, processing the implications. “What about trade? Resources?”

“We propose shared trade routes,” Clarke said. “Patrolled and protected by both Skaikru and Coalition forces. We trade medical supplies and tech.”

“And we provide raw materials, weapons-grade metal, labor if needed,” Lexa added. “In time, joint infrastructure. Roads. Communication systems. A mutual build-up.”

Abby still looked cautious. “And culturally?”

Lexa responded, her voice gentler than before. “We’d like to begin a language exchange. Trigedasleng taught in your schools. Skaikru customs respected in Coalition ceremonies. In time, we encourage inter-clan visits, youth programs, apprenticeships, cooperative farming. There is still much distrust. The only way to dissolve it is together.”

Marcus looked to Abby. “It’s ambitious. But it’s sound.”

Clarke interjected, her voice tinged with conviction. “This wasn’t just politics for me. I chose Lexa. And yes, this alliance strengthens both our people. But it’s more than that. We’ve been at war too long. We can’t keep living like enemies. We need to build a world we’re proud to pass on.”

There was a moment of silence. Abby’s gaze softened slightly. She finally spoke.

“You’re right. It’s not the path I expected for you, Clarke. But if this alliance is as much about peace as it is love, then we’ll support it.”

Lexa gave a slight nod, a quiet moment of recognition. “Then let us make this official. Our people deserve to know what they’re standing for.”

Clarke reached for Lexa’s hand under the table. Their fingers interlocked gently. Marcus stood first, holding out his hand across the table to Lexa.

“To new beginnings,” he said.

Lexa took it firmly. “And lasting peace.”

Chapter 10: Ten

Notes:

Hii guys! Sorry, last week was a very busy and social week for me. Back to being a hermit, enjoy!! (:

The journey back to Polis felt longer than Clarke remembered. Maybe it was the heavy quiet that hung in the air after the funeral, or the weight of what returning truly meant now. She wasn’t just returning as a delegate. She was returning as Lexa’s chosen. Her intended. Her fiancée.

Lexa sat beside her in the rover, her posture as regal as ever, but Clarke had learned to read the quiet beneath the surface. Her fingers occasionally tapped against her leg, and once or twice, her eyes flicked toward Clarke as if reassuring herself she was still there.

Polis greeted them in muted gold and dusty pinks, the sun beginning to set just as they passed through the gates. It wasn’t the grand, ceremonial return one might expect for a commander and her bride-to-be. But Clarke preferred it this way. Quiet. Private. Between them.

The moment they stepped down from the vehicle, Titus appeared at the base of the stairs, flanked by a few guards. His expression was carefully neutral, but Clarke caught the way his gaze lingered on her before bowing respectfully.

“Welcome home, Heda,” he said. Then, more pointedly, “Ambassador.”

Clarke nodded in return, unsure if the title came with approval or disdain. Lexa’s fingers brushed briefly against Clarke’s back as they passed, a silent gesture of reassurance.

Once inside the tower, Lexa dismissed the guards and aides with a wave. She turned to Clarke, her eyes softer now in the dim torchlight.

“They’re gone,” she said simply.

Clarke blinked. “Who?”

“The other contenders. Sent home, as agreed. There’s no question anymore. The council knows. The people know. It’s you.”

Clarke swallowed, the finality of it settling over her like a second skin. “So… it’s official.”

Lexa nodded. “You’re to be wed to the Commander of the Twelve Clans.”

Clarke let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and moved toward the window, looking out over the rooftops of Polis. “And what about the people? Do they accept it?”

Lexa joined her at the window, her taller frame brushing close. “Some will. Some won’t. But they will learn, as they always do, that my decisions are made with strength and purpose.”

“And emotion?” Clarke asked, glancing sideways.

Lexa hesitated, then reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers. “Emotion… is what brought me back to you.”

They stood in silence for a moment longer before Lexa gently tugged her closer.

“There will be a public announcement,” she said. “A formal engagement celebration. It’s expected.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “Do I have to wear something ridiculous?”

Lexa smirked. “It will be silk. You’ll look radiant.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, but she didn’t protest. She leaned into Lexa’s side, letting herself rest in the moment.

She wasn’t just a diplomat anymore. She wasn’t just a girl grieving an old love.

She was Lexa’s chosen. And Polis was her future.

—

Clarke sat at the small stone table in the side chamber of the tower, fingers tapping a charcoal stick against her notebook. Nyko stood nearby, arms crossed, patient as ever.

“We’ll begin with something important,” he said, pointing to the first phrase scrawled in Trigedasleng. “Hodnes laik honon.”

Clarke squinted, mouthing the words before repeating, “Hodnes laik honon… ‘Respect is earned,’ right?”

Nyko nodded, pleased. “You remember.”

“I heard Lexa say it once at the council when the ambassador from Trishanakru challenged her authority,” Clarke said, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “She didn’t raise her voice. Just said that, and everything went silent.”

Nyko gave a faint smirk. “Words can be weapons if wielded well.”

Clarke nodded, scribbling the phrase with a note beside it: Authority grounded in action, not title.

He moved on to the next phrase. “If you want to offer respect, say: Ai op laik hodnes.”

Clarke repeated slowly, “Ai op… laik hodnes. ‘I offer my respect.’”

Then, with a knowing smirk, “Might come in handy when Echo tries to start something.”

“Indeed,” Nyko said dryly.

They continued. Next was a blessing: Seda yu bilaik klin.

Clarke paused after repeating it. “That’s… ‘May your path be clear,’ right?”

“Good,” Nyko said. “We say it before long journeys. It’s not just well-wishing. It’s about honoring the journey itself, and the choice to take it.”

Clarke looked down, whispering the words again. Seda yu bilaik klin. “I like that,” she murmured. “It feels… purposeful.”

The lesson slowed as they moved into heavier words. “Stedaunon,” Nyko said.

Clarke frowned, then remembered. “Death.”

“Yes. And finally,” Nyko said, more gently, “Yu gonplei ste odon.”

Clarke’s chest tightened. She didn’t need the translation. She’d said it. Whispered it.

“‘Your fight is over,’” she murmured. Her thoughts drifted to Finn, to the pyre, to the tears on Raven’s face. She looked up, eyes glassy but steady. “It’s not just for the dead, is it?”

Nyko tilted his head. “No. It’s a promise. That the living will carry on.”

Clarke stared at the phrase again, then whispered, “Yu gonplei ste odon,” not as a student but as someone who truly understood.

“You’ve done well with the basics,” Nyko said. “It’s time to go deeper. Politics. Emotion. Meaning.”

Clarke looked up with a smile. “Throw it at me.”

Nyko nodded approvingly and pointed to the first phrase.

“Gonasleng bilaik nou laik kru.”

Clarke mouthed it carefully, then said aloud, “A warrior without a clan.”

Nyko raised a brow. “And what does it mean?”

Clarke thought for a moment. “Someone who’s lost their place. Or… someone dangerous, maybe. No loyalty, no anchor.”

Nyko nodded. “It can be both. We use it to describe rogues… or people who need reminding that strength comes from unity.”

He moved to the next line. “Heda klin ste daun, nou hod op.”

Clarke frowned. “The commander kneels, not stands?”

“Think more metaphorically,” Nyko urged.

She blinked, then her expression changed. “It means a good leader listens. Bows in humility, rather than leads with pride.”

“Exactly,” Nyko said, clearly impressed. “That one is very old. From the second Commander, before the Coalition.”

Clarke jotted it down, adding a note. “Remind Lexa of this next time she acts too proud.”

Nyko chuckled. “She would throw a dagger at you.”

“Probably,” Clarke agreed, smirking.

He pointed to a new line, one longer and more poetic.

“Ai laik klin bilaik honon, nou bilaik kom daun.”

Clarke read it aloud slowly. “I am clean… with honor, not with bloodshed?”

Nyko nodded gravely. “It’s a vow. Spoken before trial or before judgment. It means your conscience is clear because of your choices, not because of violence.”

Clarke sat back, thinking about it. “That’s powerful. It’s the kind of phrase someone says when they’re about to face death.”

Nyko gave her a knowing look. “It has been spoken before execution. Or before sacrifice. You say it when you want the truth of your soul to be heard.”

Clarke’s throat tightened as she repeated the phrase again, more solemnly. “Ai laik klin bilaik honon, nou bilaik kom daun.”

They sat in silence for a moment before he handed her one more line. A personal one.

“Ai hod yu in nou souda.”

Clarke tilted her head. “I hold you… in no chains?”

“In no binding,” Nyko clarified. “It means love that is free. Chosen, not forced. Often exchanged in vows.”

Clarke swallowed, writing it carefully, and repeating it aloud. “Ai hod yu in nou souda.”

Her mind flashed to Lexa. Her heart quickened.

“You should say that one to her,” Nyko said, catching the look in her eyes.

Clarke gave a soft smile. “Maybe I will.”

Nyko glanced out the tall window, where the sun had begun its slow descent beyond the towers of Polis. The warm gold light filtered through the stone lattice, casting soft patterns across the floor. He turned back to Clarke, who was still tracing her finger over the last phrase.

“You’ve done well for today,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “Enough heavy words. Your mind needs rest to absorb.”

Clarke looked up, slightly reluctant. “But I still don’t know how to say…”

Nyko held up a hand with a small smile. “You will. Let the language settle inside you. Trigedasleng is more than memory. It’s rhythm. Instinct. It finds its way when you’re not forcing it.”

Clarke exhaled, nodding. “You’re right. I just… I want to be good at this. I want them to know I’m serious.”

“They already do,” he said, gathering the scrolls and rolling them tight. “You show up. You listen. You speak with care. That’s more than most who come to Polis pretending to respect our ways.”

Clarke stood and slung her satchel over her shoulder. “Thank you, Nyko.”

He gave a respectful nod. “Hod op, klir ai daun.”

Clarke grinned. “Stay strong, clear my path. I remember.”

Nyko smiled proudly, already turning to shelve the scrolls. “Go on. Before your commander comes hunting for you.”

That made Clarke laugh. “She’s not that bad.”

He raised a brow, clearly unconvinced.

Clarke turned toward the door with one last look over her shoulder. “Ai hod yu in nou souda,” she said softly, almost practicing it to herself.

Nyko heard, but didn’t turn. “She’ll understand it,” he said. “And she’ll feel it. That’s what matters.”

Clarke left the library with those words still echoing in her heart.

—

Dinner had long since cooled, but neither Clarke nor Lexa had moved from their cushions. The low table between them still bore traces of the meal—empty goblets, a half-eaten loaf of bread, and the scent of spiced meat lingering in the air. A gentle breeze drifted through the open windows, carrying with it the distant hum of Polis nightlife: faint laughter, the beat of drums from a celebration in the lower quarter, the ever-present murmur of life outside the tower.

Clarke sat cross-legged, a soft smile on her face as she twirled a piece of dried fruit between her fingers. “You know,” she said, “for someone who used to terrify me, you’re kind of a dork.”

Lexa, who had just taken a sip of water, paused. “A… dork?”

Clarke laughed. “Not in a bad way. Just… you’ve got this whole intimidating warrior queen thing, but you’re also the kind of person who gets a little too invested in market disputes and court gossip.”

Lexa arched a brow, feigning offense. “The market dispute between Floukru and Delfikru was a matter of regional integrity.”

“You literally argued about fish pricing for two hours.”

Lexa tried to hold her composure but cracked a smile. “It was an aggressive negotiation.”

Clarke grinned, leaning back against the pillows and stretching her legs out beside Lexa’s. “Still. I think I like this version of you. The one who smiles. Laughs. Talks politics over honeyed bread.”

Lexa was quiet for a moment, watching her closely. “You bring out that version of me.”

Clarke didn’t look away. “Good. Because I think she’s my favorite.”

There was a beat of silence, comfortable and warm. Then Clarke reached for her goblet, swirling the remnants of wine inside, and added with mock casualness, “Ai hod yu in nou souda.”

Lexa froze mid-reach.

Clarke kept her expression calm, but her heart beat a little faster as she glanced sideways, gauging the reaction.

Lexa’s green eyes slowly widened, the corners of her lips lifting with something between wonder and disbelief. “You—what did you say?”

Clarke took another sip, then set the goblet down deliberately. “You heard me.”

Lexa’s voice was hushed. “You’ve been studying.”

“I figured if I’m going to be your ambassador, your partner, I should speak your language.” Clarke looked up at her. “I want to be able to stand beside you, not just symbolically, but practically. I want your people to hear me and know I understand them. That I’m not just here because it makes political sense.”

Lexa stared at her for a moment, the firelight reflecting in her eyes. She looked undone, not by the effort, but by the intent behind it.

“You told me you hold me in your heart,” Lexa said, voice low and steady.

“I meant every word,” Clarke replied softly.

Lexa leaned forward, hand finding Clarke’s cheek as she pulled her into a kiss, slow and reverent, like she was trying to memorize the feel of her. When she pulled back, her forehead rested against Clarke’s, their breath mingling in the space between them.

“You may just start a war,” Lexa whispered, lips brushing against hers.

Clarke let out a soft laugh. “Why’s that?”

“Because the rest of the clans will want to steal you for themselves.”

“Too bad,” Clarke whispered. “I’m taken.”

Lexa smiled, then kissed her again.

Lexa’s fingers trailed along the edge of the mattress as she moved closer, her gaze never leaving Clarke’s. She could see the way Clarke’s chest rose and fell, the way her lips parted slightly, as if she were already trying to catch her breath. Lexa loved this—the way Clarke unraveled before her, the way she could feel the tension in the room like a live wire.

“You’re so beautiful,” Lexa murmured, her voice low and husky, as she climbed onto the bed, her knees sinking into the soft mattress. She hovered over Clarke, her hands sliding up Clarke’s thighs, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her shorts. Clarke shivered under her touch, her hips lifting slightly, as if seeking more.

Lexa’s fingers hooked into the waistband of Clarke’s shorts, pulling them down slowly, inch by inch, revealing the smooth skin beneath. Clarke’s breath hitched as Lexa’s hands slid back up her thighs, this time without the barrier of fabric. Lexa’s touch was deliberate, teasing, her fingertips brushing against the sensitive skin just above Clarke’s inner thighs.

“Lexa,” Clarke whispered, her voice trembling, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her. Lexa smiled, her lips brushing against Clarke’s stomach as she leaned down, her breath warm against Clarke’s skin. She could feel Clarke’s muscles tense, could hear the soft gasp that escaped her lips as Lexa’s mouth moved lower.

Lexa’s tongue traced a slow, deliberate path down Clarke’s stomach, her lips pressing soft kisses along the way. She could feel Clarke’s body responding, could feel the way her hips lifted slightly, as if begging for more. Lexa’s hands slid under Clarke’s thighs, gently spreading them apart, giving herself better access.

When Lexa’s mouth finally reached Clarke’s core, she paused for a moment, her breath warm against Clarke’s most sensitive spot. She could feel Clarke trembling beneath her, could hear the soft whimper that escaped her lips. Lexa’s tongue flicked out, tasting Clarke for the first time, and the sound that came from Clarke’s throat was almost a sob.

Lexa’s tongue moved slowly at first, exploring every inch of Clarke’s folds, savoring the taste of her. She could feel Clarke’s hips lifting, could feel the way her body was already starting to tense, as if she were on the edge already. Lexa’s hands tightened on Clarke’s thighs, holding her in place as she increased the pressure of her tongue, moving faster now, more insistently.

Clarke’s hands fisted in the sheets, her back arching off the bed as Lexa’s tongue found her clit, circling it with a precision that made Clarke’s entire body shudder. “Oh god, Lexa,” Clarke moaned, her voice breaking as Lexa’s tongue continued its relentless assault. Lexa could feel Clarke’s thighs trembling under her hands, could feel the way her body was tightening, coiling like a spring ready to snap.

Lexa’s mouth moved faster now, her tongue flicking over Clarke’s clit with a rhythm that had Clarke gasping for air. She could feel Clarke’s orgasm building, could feel the way her body was tensing, could hear the way her breathing was becoming more erratic. And then, with a cry that was almost a scream, Clarke came, her body arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crashed over her.

Lexa didn’t stop, her tongue continuing to move over Clarke’s clit, drawing out her orgasm until Clarke was trembling beneath her, her body spent. Only then did Lexa pull away, her lips swollen, her chin glistening with Clarke’s arousal. She looked up at Clarke, her eyes dark with desire, and saw the way Clarke was looking at her, her eyes half-lidded, her lips parted.

“You’re unbelievable,” Clarke whispered, her voice hoarse, her hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from Lexa’s face. Lexa smiled, leaning into Clarke’s touch, her own body aching with need. She could feel the hardness between her legs, could feel the way her own desire was threatening to overwhelm her.

Lexa climbed up Clarke’s body, her lips capturing Clarke’s in a deep, hungry kiss. Clarke moaned into the kiss, her hands tangling in Lexa’s hair as their tongues tangled together. Lexa could taste herself on Clarke’s lips, and it only made her desire burn hotter.

Lexa’s hands moved to Clarke’s hips, pulling her closer as she ground against her, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through both of them. Clarke’s hands slid down Lexa’s back, gripping her ass as she pulled Lexa even closer, their bodies pressed together so tightly that there was no space between them.

Clarke reached for her, pulling Lexa up into a kiss that was deep and hungry. She could taste herself on Lexa’s lips, and it only made her want more. Her hands roamed over Lexa’s body, feeling the hard muscles beneath her skin, the way Lexa’s breath hitched when Clarke’s fingers brushed against her nipples.

Lexa broke the kiss, her eyes dark with desire. “I need you,” she whispered, her voice rough with need. “Now.”

Clarke nodded, her heart pounding in her chest as Lexa positioned herself between her legs. She could feel the heat of Lexa’s body, the way Lexa’s cock pressed against her entrance, and it made her ache with anticipation.

Lexa leaned down, capturing Clarke’s lips in another searing kiss as she pushed inside her. Clarke gasped, her nails digging into Lexa’s back as she felt herself being filled. Lexa moved slowly at first, giving Clarke time to adjust to the sensation, but soon the pace quickened, their bodies moving together in a rhythm that was as old as time itself.

The sound of their breathing filled the room, mingling with the soft moans and gasps that escaped their lips. Lexa’s thrusts were deep and powerful, each one driving Clarke closer to the edge. She could feel the tension building inside her again, the pleasure so intense it was almost painful.

“Lexa,” Clarke gasped, her voice breaking as she clung to Lexa’s shoulders. “I’m so close.”

Lexa’s movements became more urgent, her hips slamming into Clarke with a force that made the bed shake. She could feel Clarke tightening around her, could hear the way Clarke’s breath hitched with each thrust. “Come for me, Clarke,” Lexa growled, her voice low and commanding.

And Clarke did. With a cry that was almost a scream, she came, her body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. Lexa followed soon after, her own orgasm ripping through her with a force that left her trembling. She buried herself deep inside Clarke, spilling into her with a moan that was filled with both relief and satisfaction.

The room was dim, lit only by the golden flicker of a nearby lantern. The soft sounds of the Polis night filtered in through the open windows—distant voices, the occasional hoofbeat, and the hum of wind against stone.

 

Clarke lay tangled in silk sheets, her bare skin pressed to Lexa’s, head resting just below the hollow of her throat. Lexa’s fingers moved slowly along Clarke’s spine, drawing lazy, soothing patterns down her back.

 

They had been silent for a while, resting in the afterglow, the air thick with quiet affection. Then Lexa’s voice broke the stillness.

“How do you protect yourself… from becoming pregnant?”

Clarke let out a quiet laugh, lifting her head to glance up at her. “I’m surprised it took you until now to ask, and you just trusted the first time I said I was protected”

Lexa blinked, a little caught off guard. “I—yes. I didn’t want to assume.”

Clarke smiled, her hand trailing up to brush a lock of hair from Lexa’s cheek. “Fair enough.”

She rolled onto her side, extending her arm and turning it slightly. “I have an implant. In my arm. Right here.” She guided Lexa’s hand to a small, barely noticeable bump beneath the skin. “It releases hormones. Stops ovulation, thickens the lining, messes with timing—basically makes it really hard for anything to happen.”

Lexa’s fingers brushed over the spot, gently, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “A small device can do all that?”

“Technology has its perks,” Clarke said softly. “No tea or salves, no timing cycles. Just a few years of not having to think about it.”

Lexa was quiet a moment longer, then nodded thoughtfully. “That’s… impressive. And wise.”

Lexa’s fingers traced slow, soothing circles along Clarke’s spine, the quiet hum of the fire filling the room around them. After a moment of thoughtful silence, she asked softly, “Is it removable?”

Clarke turned her head, brow lifting as she looked at her. “The implant?”

Lexa nodded, her expression unreadable but eyes steady.

Clarke blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah… it is. Why?”

Lexa hesitated, her fingers pausing against Clarke’s skin. “Do you want children someday?”

Clarke studied her for a moment, trying to read where the question had come from. “Do you?”

Lexa met her gaze without flinching. “Yes.”

Clarke smiled slightly, touched and surprised. “You never struck me as the type to think about that.”

“I never had a reason to,” Lexa said, her voice low. “Until now.”

Chapter 11: Eleven

Notes:

Don’t hate me, apologies in advance.

The midday sun poured golden light into Clarke’s chambers, casting warm shadows as Raven laced up the back of her green silk gown. The fabric shimmered with every movement, hugging her form in a way that made Clarke shift awkwardly under the attention.

“You look like you’re about to marry into royalty or something,” Raven teased, pulling the final tie tight.

“I am,” Clarke replied dryly, adjusting the strap at her shoulder in the mirror. “Apparently.”

“Stop fidgeting,” Octavia said from where she sat cross-legged on the couch, sipping a cup of herbal tea. “You look incredible.”

Clarke gave her a skeptical look. “It’s not just the dress. It’s… all of it. The people, the expectations. The future commander’s wife should know more than a handful of Trig phrases.”

Raven chuckled as she placed her hands on Clarke’s shoulders. “Relax. You’ve been practicing. You said a whole sentence to Echo the other day.”

“Yeah, and I think I accidentally told her she had goat breath.”

Octavia snorted into her tea.

“You said sweat not strength. Nyko said it happens,” Raven offered with a grin.

Clarke rolled her eyes but smiled. Her nerves weren’t just about the language or the crowd. Tonight made everything real. The last of the other contenders had been dismissed. The alliance was official. She and Lexa were engaged to be married. And tonight, Polis would celebrate it.

There was a knock at the door. Lincoln peeked in, offering a small smile. “She’s ready for you.”

Clarke gave herself one last look in the mirror, smoothing her gown. “Let’s do this.”

Lexa stood at the end of the long corridor in formal wear. Forest green robes lined with silver, her hair braided intricately with pieces of gold thread woven through. She looked every bit the Commander, but her eyes softened the moment they landed on Clarke.

“You’re breathtaking,” she said simply, offering her hand.

Clarke took it, her fingers curling around Lexa’s as they walked toward the grand hall. “So are you. Just… don’t make me speak too much Trigedasleng tonight.”

Lexa raised a brow, amused. “Then what was ‘Yu don gaf emo’ I overheard earlier when you spoke to Niylah?”

Clarke blinked, a little too confident. “That means ‘don’t mess with them,’ right?”

Lexa tried and failed to suppress a smirk. “You told her ‘you don’t care about them.’”

Clarke flushed. “Oh my god.”

“She looked very offended,” Lexa said lightly, lips twitching.

Clarke groaned, burying her face in her free hand. “I meant to sound tough, not heartless.”

Lexa leaned closer as they walked. “Well, either way… it was a little intimidating. And very cute.”

Clarke shot her a look, but she was smiling now. “Great. Remind me to apologize later.”

“I think she’ll forgive you,” Lexa said.

The hall was alive with color and music. People from all twelve clans were gathered beneath towering stone arches strung with garlands of herbs and flowers. Fires blazed in wall sconces, casting the space in a soft, amber glow. Long tables overflowed with food: roasted meats, fresh fruits, traditional breads from Trikru, and sweet confections brought by Sankru delegates.

The pair stepped through the main archway, drawing a hush that rippled through the room. All eyes turned to them.

Clarke kept her grip firm on Lexa’s hand, letting her fiancée guide her forward. Whispers followed them, but not unkind ones. Curiosity, admiration, cautious hope.

Lexa leaned close to Clarke’s ear. “Now the real test begins.”

They greeted delegates from each clan in turn. Indra of Trikru offered a respectful bow. A delegate from Floukru handed Clarke a delicate bracelet made of water pearls. Even the new Azgeda ambassador, Echo, greeted her with a smile.

The night unfolded with more introductions. Clarke met Lexa’s old mentor from Trikru, and a warrior friend from Sankru who jokingly offered to fight any suitors who dared look at Clarke too long. She smiled, sipped the wine Raven handed her, and danced once with Octavia, then once with Lincoln.

Lexa stayed close, watching her. When they finally danced together, the hall quieted for a moment, watching the Commander and her chosen bride spin in slow, practiced turns.

“You’re doing well,” Lexa said quietly, hand pressed against the small of Clarke’s back.

“I’m trying,” Clarke said. “Though I’m glad you’re here to do most of the talking.”

Lexa smiled, proud and a little enamored. “One day, they’ll listen to you just as much as they listen to me.”

Clarke’s eyes met hers, steady and sure. “Then I hope I deserve it.”

“You do,” Lexa said, not missing a beat.

The grand hall buzzed with music and voices, lanterns casting a soft amber glow across the high stone walls. Clarke had drifted from Lexa’s side somewhere between the third toast and her second glass of wine, her curiosity tugging her toward conversations with leaders from across the Coalition.

She found herself drawn into one in particular.

Luna, the striking woman from Floukru, stood near the edge of the room, a calm island amid the noise. Her long, sandy hair was loose down her back, and she wore a flowing blue robe that shimmered like moonlight on the sea. Her presence was magnetic, not because she was loud or commanding, but because she radiated calm in a room otherwise full of warriors and politicians.

“I’ve heard of Floukru,” Clarke said as she approached, offering her hand with genuine curiosity. “But I don’t think I ever really understood it.”

Luna accepted the greeting with a gentle smile. “Most don’t,” she replied, her voice soft but confident. “We are a clan of the sea. We live far from the power plays of the land, and we don’t take part in violence.”

Clarke tilted her head. “At all?”

“Not even in defense,” Luna said. “Anyone who wants to live among us must take an oath of peace. Lay down their weapons. It’s the only way.”

Clarke’s brows lifted, both impressed and puzzled. “But the world out there… it’s not peaceful. How do you protect yourselves?”

“We don’t,” Luna answered simply. “Not the way others do. We build trust with our neighbors. We offer food, healing, and shelter. In return, they let us be. When someone threatens us, we don’t stay and fight. We leave.”

Clarke took a sip of her drink, the idea settling into her mind like a warm tide. “Anyone can join you? Even someone from Azgeda?”

“If they lay down their weapons, yes,” Luna said, her smile softening. “Even someone from Azgeda. Violence doesn’t have to be the way.”

Clarke was quiet for a moment, letting that settle. She glanced across the room to where Lexa stood, regal and strong, surrounded by leaders from every clan. A warrior chosen by force and tradition, leading with both strength and principle.

Then she turned back to Luna.

“I wish I could live that life,” Clarke admitted quietly. “Just… let go of all of this. But conflict is so deeply rooted here. It’s woven into every part of the Coalition’s culture. Peace like that feels like something you have to steal away for, not something you can build from here.”

Luna’s gaze softened with understanding. “And yet, you’re here. You’re engaged to the Commander. Your voice is already shaping the future.”

Clarke looked at her, surprised by the statement.

“I look forward to seeing someone like-minded rise so high,” Luna continued. “We need more voices that challenge the way things have always been.”

Clarke smiled faintly, grateful. “Then I hope I don’t let you down.”

“You won’t,” Luna said simply.

As the soft hum of music swelled in the background, Clarke and Luna stood together in easy conversation, the air between them full of thought and quiet understanding. But the moment was gently interrupted when a familiar voice approached.

“Has my fiancée kept you entertained, Luna?” Lexa’s voice was light, but her presence grounded them both instantly.

Clarke turned slightly, warmth blooming in her chest at the sight of Lexa. She looked at her with a curious glint, wondering how long she’d been watching.

Luna offered a small, knowing smile. “No issues to report. She’s been a pleasure.”

Lexa stepped beside Clarke, her eyes flicking from her to Luna with something fond. “Good. You always did prefer a bit of peace in your company.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “Wait… you two know each other?”

“We trained together,” Lexa explained, folding her hands behind her back. “In the same class at the Polis capitol, during our selection for the next Commander.”

Clarke blinked, turning back to Luna, who only offered a quiet shrug.

“You were in line to be Commander?” Clarke asked, her voice full of surprise.

Luna nodded. “I passed every trial, every combat test. But I didn’t want the Flame. I didn’t want to lead through war. So, I ran.”

Clarke’s eyes widened as she turned back to Lexa. “And they let you?”

Lexa’s expression shifted, more serious now. “No. She was considered a deserter. It was my first act as Commander to pardon her.”

Clarke looked between them, taking it in slowly. Luna had rejected power. Lexa had claimed it, and yet, somehow still honored the one who walked away. It said more than words could.

“I couldn’t be the kind of leader they wanted,” Luna added gently. “But Lexa… Lexa was born for it. Even back then, we all knew.”

Lexa’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, but she didn’t look away from Clarke.

“And now,” she said softly, her voice steady, “I have the chance to lead with someone who believes in peace as much as strength.”

Clarke felt something settle in her chest, an understanding of just how long Lexa had been walking this path, and how much she’d already done to change it. She reached for her hand quietly, lacing their fingers together.

—

The grand hall had long since quieted, the last of the guests bidding their farewells under the glow of lanterns as the engagement celebration came to a close. Clarke and Lexa had returned to their chambers together, the warmth of the night still lingering on their skin as Lexa helped unlace the back of Clarke’s green silk gown.

Now, dressed in a robe and curled up beside Lexa on their shared bed, Clarke sipped from a goblet of water. The firelight danced across the walls, casting flickering shadows, but her mind wasn’t ready to rest.

“Back with Luna, you mentioned you trained together to become Commander,” Clarke said softly, her voice curious. “How does that work exactly? The whole… selection process.”

Lexa stiffened slightly beside her, not in alarm but with caution. “It’s not something we speak of lightly,” she began, ever careful. “The Commander is chosen by the Flame, an artificial intelligence, similar to your technologies. But one only certain people can take on. Natblidas.”

Clarke’s brow furrowed. “The black blood.”

Lexa nodded. “It’s rare. Those who are born with it are brought to Polis around the age of five to be trained. They learn combat, leadership, history, politics… everything they would need to lead.”

“Brought? Like taken?” Clarke asked slowly, sitting up slightly.

“Some clans offer them willingly,” Lexa said carefully. “Others require more effort. But once they are here, they’re under the protection of the capital. They become part of something greater.”

Clarke chewed her lip. “And then what? How is the next Commander chosen?”

Lexa turned her head slightly, eyes trained on the fire. “It will not happen while I live.”

“Lexa,” Clarke pressed, sensing her evasion. “Tell me.”

Lexa looked at her, silent for a long beat before finally speaking.

“There is a conclave,” she said softly. “When the Commander dies, the remaining Nightbloods, those who have completed their training, enter the chamber. Only one emerges.”

Clarke blinked, confusion clouding her face. “What do you mean… only one?”

“They fight,” Lexa said, her voice barely above a whisper. “To the death. The last one standing receives the Flame. Becomes the next Commander.”

Clarke stared at her in horror, her goblet forgotten in her lap.

“No,” she said immediately, voice shaking. “They’re children.”

“They are warriors,” Lexa corrected gently, but there was a sorrow behind her eyes.

Clarke’s breathing became shallow. “So if we… if we had a child. And they had your blood… they would be sent here? At five? Trained to fight? To kill other children? Or die themselves?”

Lexa sat up now, reaching for Clarke, but she flinched back slightly, her world spinning.

“I would never let them take our child,” Lexa said, fierce but quiet. “You have to believe me.”

“But you were taken,” Clarke said, her voice distant. “And you stayed. And you killed, didn’t you?”

Lexa didn’t answer immediately.

“I did what was necessary,” she said at last. “But that does not mean I want it for the next generation.”

Clarke stood abruptly, pacing away from the bed, one hand at her temple. “This isn’t just politics. This is blood. This is life or death before they’re even old enough to understand what they’re fighting for.”

Lexa rose too, slowly, giving her space. “I never wanted you to carry that weight,” she said softly.

“Well, I’m carrying it now,” Clarke replied, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes.

Silence fell again, heavy and aching.

“I’ll change it,” Lexa said suddenly.

Clarke turned to look at her, disbelief across her face.

“I don’t know how, not yet,” Lexa continued, stepping closer. “But I will. If we ever have a child, no one will take them. They won’t enter the conclave. I swear it to you.”

Clarke stared at her for a long moment, heart pounding. Then she nodded, once, unsure if she believed it but needing to.

“You can’t swear against tradition, Lexa,” Clarke cut in, her tone cool. “Not when you just spent weeks reminding me how tightly woven this culture is. How deep the roots run.”

Lexa stepped closer, voice soft but urgent. “I would find a way to change it. For you. For us.”

But Clarke didn’t respond. She stared into the fire, jaw clenched.

“I need to sleep,” she said after a moment, voice almost too calm.

Lexa took a step back. “Clarke…”

“Goodnight, Lexa.”

Clarke didn’t look at her as she moved toward the bed and slipped under the covers, curling away from the warmth that had once comforted her.

Lexa stood in place for a moment longer before quietly extinguishing the candles and retreating to the couch. The silence between them stretched heavy in the dark, thick with the weight of tradition, of fear, and of futures not yet written.

—

The early morning light filtered softly through the curtains of Clarke’s chambers, casting golden patterns across the bed where she’d slept fitfully. Lexa was already gone, likely called to morning meetings with ambassadors or her war advisors. Clarke welcomed the distance for now.

She rose quietly, washed up, and dressed in a simple blue gown before stepping into the corridor. The weight of the night before still clung to her, tightening her chest with every breath. There was only one person she could speak to about it.

The guest quarters were just down the hall. Clarke knocked once before pushing the door open.

Abby looked up from the desk near the window, scrolls and data pads spread out in front of her. “Morning, sweetheart,” she greeted, voice warm but cautious. “Everything okay?”

Clarke shut the door behind her. She didn’t return the smile.

“Did you know?”

Abby’s expression faltered. “Know what?”

Clarke stepped forward, fists clenched at her sides. “That if Lexa and I ever have a child, if they inherit her blood, that they’ll be taken as a toddler and trained like a soldier. That they’ll have to fight in some brutal death match with other children just to have a chance at living. Did you know that?”

Abby’s silence was answer enough.

Clarke’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You knew. You knew and you still encouraged this?”

“Clarke—“

“No,” Clarke snapped, her voice echoing off the stone walls. “You sent me here to forge alliances. You begged me to be open to this, to her. And when I finally do, when I finally start building something that feels real, you forget to mention the part where our child might be slaughtered for the right to exist?”

Abby stood now too, her own frustration rising. “It’s not that simple. You think I wanted to hide this from you? I’ve spent my entire life trying to protect you, and for once, you were happy. I didn’t want to take that from you.”

Clarke shook her head, bitter laughter escaping her lips. “You didn’t want to take it from me, so you just let me walk into it blind? What kind of choice is that?”

Abby reached for her, but Clarke stepped back, eyes hard.

“I’m not a pawn. Not for you. Not for Lexa. Not for the Coalition.”

She turned on her heel and stormed out of the guest chambers, fury simmering under her skin like wildfire. Guards stationed nearby straightened as she passed, but no one dared stop her.

Back in the halls, her breath came fast and shallow. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she needed to move.

The halls of the palace felt colder than usual, despite the summer sun pouring through the high windows. Clarke’s boots echoed sharply as she made her way through the corridors, ignoring the curious glances from passing guards and servants. Her mind raced, but her feet knew exactly where to go.

She found Luna on the balcony outside the reading room, just as she’d hoped. The woman stood with her hands resting on the stone balustrade, her gaze cast out toward the horizon, where the mountains in the distance kissed the blue sky.

“Luna,” Clarke said quietly, approaching.

Luna turned, a calm expression already etched across her features. But she saw the turmoil written plainly on Clarke’s face.

“Clarke. Is everything alright?”

Clarke stepped beside her, the wind catching the edges of her hair. “I need to get away from here,” she said, voice low but firm. “Just for a while. I need air. I need time.”

Luna said nothing, waiting for more.

Clarke continued, “You said anyone could visit Floukru… if they laid down their weapons. I’m not asking to join your people. Just a temporary visit. As a Skaikru delegate.”

Luna’s brows knit slightly in concern. “Have things gone that poorly?”

Clarke hesitated. “I just learned something I should’ve known from the beginning. Something that’s made me question whether I can go through with all of this.”

“Lexa?”

Clarke nodded slowly. “Not her, not exactly. It’s the world she’s part of. The world I’m being pulled into. I need to understand if there’s another way. And I think maybe… Floukru could show me.”

Luna studied her for a long moment. Then she offered a soft smile. “You’re not married yet.”

Clarke let out a shaky breath, grateful someone finally said it aloud. “Exactly.”

“You wouldn’t need Lexa’s permission,” Luna said, confirming Clarke’s unspoken thought. “And I’ll vouch for you. You’ll be safe with us.”

Relief swept over Clarke’s face. “Thank you.”

Luna placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “We’re not a solution, Clarke. But we are a place of peace. If that’s what you’re looking for… you’re welcome.”

Clarke nodded, emotion thick in her chest. “I think that’s exactly what I need right now.”

The wind swept through the balcony again, tousling both their hair.

Behind them, Polis carried on loud and restless.

Ahead of them, the sea waited in silence.

Chapter 12: Twelve

Notes:

I’ve received a lot of push back from the last chapter; and while I understand and respect people’s opinions I’m not going to change the storyline.

I hope this chapter provides some clarification.

Clarke had never ridden this far south. Her thighs ached and her spine protested each new bump in the trail, but she kept her eyes forward, determined not to fall behind Luna’s steady pace.

They rode in near silence for most of the first day. Luna’s guard, a tall and quiet man named Shai, kept several paces behind and never spoke unless spoken to. Clarke appreciated the quiet. It gave her time to think. To feel.

It wasn’t until the second day that the change in the air became impossible to ignore.

The scent was the first thing that hit her. Salt. Wet earth. Something tangy and sharp she couldn’t name but instinctively recognized. She inhaled deeply, letting the ocean air replace the stifling weight of Polis that had been choking her since the night of the engagement party.

The dense forest gave way to thinner trees with twisted roots and long, draping moss. The path beneath their horses’ hooves was softer now, damp from humidity. Clarke glanced around, noticing how the leaves were broader and greener, and the birds sounded different. Higher calls, more melodic. Even the insects hummed with a strange rhythm.

“This place feels like another world,” Clarke murmured, pulling up beside Luna as they approached the ridge.

Luna glanced at her, smiling faintly. “It is, in many ways.”

They crested the rise and Clarke gasped. Before them, the coastline stretched endlessly, shimmering under the midday sun. Waves rolled lazily onto white sand, the sea stretching into a limitless horizon. Far in the distance, a collection of stilted wooden structures could be seen, hovering just above the shoreline like a secret waiting to be revealed.

Clarke pulled her horse to a slow stop, eyes wide. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s home,” Luna said simply, her voice filled with quiet reverence.

The tension in Clarke’s chest eased. For the first time in days, she felt like she could breathe. No throne. No bloodlines. No impossible choices pressing down on her.

Just sky and sea and space.

Clarke’s boots crunched against the damp wooden dock as they approached the small boat bobbing gently in the water. It looked barely large enough for the three of them and Clarke’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as Luna stepped in first with practiced ease.

“This is it?” Clarke asked, hesitating at the edge.

Luna turned to glance over her shoulder, amusement dancing in her eyes. “You sound disappointed.”

“I sound concerned,” Clarke muttered, eyeing the weathered frame and single mast. She had never seen the ocean like this before, endless and open, and definitely had never been on a boat. Especially not one so… small.

Luna held out her hand, steadying the hull. “It’s a short ride. And the tide is calm. You’ll be safe.”

Clarke took a breath, then accepted Luna’s hand and climbed in, gripping the edge of the boat harder than she meant to. It rocked slightly beneath her weight, and her stomach dipped in response.

Shai climbed in last, giving them a strong push away from the dock before taking his position at the rudder. The sail unfurled with a soft snap, catching the breeze immediately, and the boat began gliding across the surface.

Clarke’s heart thudded as they gained speed, the shore slipping away behind them.

“Relax,” Luna said softly, sitting beside her. “Let the water carry you.”

Clarke exhaled slowly, trying to let her grip loosen. The wind swept through her hair, and salt clung to her lips. The rhythmic lapping of the waves against the boat began to calm her nerves.

“How long until we get there?” she asked, still tense.

“Not long. Fifteen minutes, maybe less. You’ll see the platforms soon.”

Clarke nodded, still wide-eyed but less rigid. As the coast behind them faded into mist and the vast openness of the sea surrounded her, something in her began to shift. Polis had felt like a cage lately, even in its grandeur. But out here, with nothing but water and sky—

It felt like freedom.

—

Lexa stirred, eyes blinking open to the faint gray light filtering through the curtains. She reached out instinctively, expecting to find Clarke beside her. But her hand met only cool sheets.

Her brow furrowed as she sat up.

Another knock.

“Come in,” she called, voice rough from sleep.

The door creaked open and Titus entered, followed closely by Anya. Both of their faces were drawn tight with concern.

Lexa’s heart immediately stilled in her chest.

“What is it?” she asked, voice sharpening.

“She’s gone.”

The air thickened in the chamber.

“What do you mean gone?” Lexa demanded, her voice deadly quiet. She turned to face Titus and Anya, eyes narrowing.

Anya stepped forward, hands behind her back. “Clarke left early this morning. The guards say she wasn’t under watch because they assumed she was with you.”

Lexa’s jaw clenched.

“And she wasn’t,” Titus added.

Lexa moved slowly to her writing desk, placing both hands on it as if to ground herself. “Do we know where she went?”

Anya exchanged a look with Titus before answering. “She spoke with Luna late last night. A servant overheard her asking about visiting Floukru.”

Lexa went still.

It made sense. Luna, with her pacifist ideals and faraway oceans. Clarke had been rattled ever since their conversation about the Conclave. Lexa could see now how it might’ve pushed her too far, too fast.

Still, she took a slow breath and stood tall.

“I won’t stop her,” she said quietly.

Titus blinked. “Heda—”

“No,” Lexa said, firmer now. “If she needs space, she will have it. She left willingly. I will not hunt her down like a runaway.”

“With all respect,” Titus pressed, “the other ambassadors will question this. They will wonder if the alliance is still stable.”

Lexa turned, her expression unreadable. “Then tell them she returned to Skaikru for an urgent matter. Send word to the Chancellor. Let him know she is safe and acting in her capacity as a delegate.”

Anya raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“If Clarke is to marry me, it must be her choice. Fully,” Lexa added, voice softer now. “I will not force her into my world before she’s ready to stand in it.”

Titus hesitated, then bowed his head. “As you command.”

When the room emptied and Lexa was alone again, the silence pressed against her. She moved to Clarke’s side of the bed and sank down slowly, brushing her fingers against the pillow still faintly shaped from where Clarke had slept.

She closed her eyes.

The council chamber was quiet, save for the soft hum of the wind against the high stone windows. Lexa stood at the head of the long table, arms folded behind her back, armor gone.

Octavia and Raven sat across from her, exchanged a quick glance before Raven leaned back, her boots propped casually on the edge of the bench. Octavia, sharper, sat forward, elbows on the table.

“You wanted to talk,” Raven said. “So talk.”

Lexa inclined her head. “Clarke left Polis this morning. She traveled with Luna, and it is my belief she’s headed to Floukru.”

Octavia tensed. “Is she in danger?”

“No,” Lexa answered quickly, reassuring them. “I believe she needed space. I chose not to stop her.”

Raven narrowed her eyes. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“It was a personal decision,” Lexa admitted. “Not a political one. But I called you both here because it may soon have political consequences.”

Octavia sat back slowly, trying to absorb the news. “Why did she leave?”

Lexa hesitated. “She asked about the Conclave. I told her the truth.”

Raven gave a low whistle. “Yeah. That’d do it.”

“She was shaken,” Lexa said quietly. “I wanted her to understand what it means to bear the blood. What our people expect. I didn’t want to lie.”

“But she’s not your people. Not yet,” Raven said. “And you didn’t grow up like she did. To you, violence is structure. To her, it’s trauma.”

Lexa looked down for a moment, then back up at them. “So… what would you advise?”

Octavia shrugged. “Give her time. Luna’s a safe space. No one will hurt her there.”

“And when she comes back?” Lexa asked.

“She will,” Octavia said confidently. “Clarke runs, but she always comes back. And when she does—don’t meet her with politics. Meet her where she is. As a person.”

Raven nodded. “She doesn’t need a Commander. She needs you.”

Lexa absorbed their words, the weight of them pressing on her chest. She gave a small nod, jaw tight.

“Very well. I will wait. And I will prepare Polis for her return.”

Octavia stood. “Good. Because if you mess this up, I will take her side.”

Lexa almost smiled. “Understood.”

—

The salty wind whipped through Clarke’s hair as the boat creaked beneath her, cutting through a sheet of blue that stretched endlessly in every direction. The coast had disappeared an hour ago, swallowed by fog and distance. Now there was nothing but the gentle rocking of the boat and the glint of sunlight on the open sea.

Then, structures emerged from the water like a mirage.

Pillars rose first, thick trunks of wood weathered gray by storms and sun. Then came the huts, dozens of them, raised high above the surface of the water and linked by a lattice of rope bridges and wooden walkways. Each hut was built of driftwood and sails, humble yet sturdy, swaying slightly with the rhythm of the sea. The community of Floukru floated peacefully at the center of the ocean, untethered from land, from war, from politics.

Clarke stood and stared in wonder.

“Welcome to home,” Luna said softly, guiding the boat toward a docking point. Two Floukru guards waited at the edge, nodding in recognition as Luna pulled the boat up and climbed out with ease.

Clarke stepped more cautiously, wobbling as she adjusted to solid wood underfoot. The platform beneath her swayed slightly, and she looked down. Nothing but clear water stretched beneath the slats.

“It takes time to get used to,” Luna said, offering her hand.

Clarke took it gratefully, still gazing around. Children darted across rope bridges in the distance, laughter floating on the breeze. Others fished lazily or wove netting under the shade of a canopy. Everything was calm. Serene. Untouched.

“It’s beautiful,” Clarke whispered.

“And far away from the world that hurt you,” Luna replied, guiding her down the walkway.

As they moved deeper into the floating village, Clarke felt her tension begin to ebb. Her shoulders, so long coiled tight with expectation, began to loosen. Her mind, constantly running in circles, finally quieted.

For the first time in weeks, maybe months, Clarke could breathe.

The moment they stepped into the narrow wooden walkway lined with stalls, Clarke’s senses were overwhelmed. Smoke curled from small cooking pits, mingling with the sharp tang of salt air and the buttery, rich aroma of sizzling food. Steam rose from clay pots, and oil popped as vendors stirred and flipped their creations with practiced ease. Children darted between the stalls, laughing, hands sticky with sweet glazes and sauces.

Luna glanced over at Clarke with a knowing smile. “Hungry?”

Clarke let out a small laugh. “Starving.”

They walked deeper into the vendor street. Every stall seemed to offer something different—strange, twisting sea plants that were being stir-fried with herbs, spiced skewers of small silver fish, something breaded and golden Clarke couldn’t begin to name. Her eyes widened at the sheer variety.

“What is all this?” Clarke asked, glancing between stalls, unsure where to look first.

Luna nodded to a pot being ladled into wooden bowls. “Seafood. We harvest it directly from the ocean. Fish, crab, oysters, sea greens. If it lives in the water, we’ve probably cooked it.”

Clarke blinked. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Luna smiled and turned to a vendor she seemed to know well. She spoke a few fast words in Trigedasleng, and within moments, a carved wooden plate was handed over to Clarke. A cracked-open red shell sat steaming on top, the white meat glistening slightly beneath. It looked like… something with legs. Sharp ones.

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “Is this… crab?”

Luna laughed gently and nodded. “Cooked over coals with sea salt and seaweed oil. Let me show you.”

They stepped aside to a low bench, and Luna picked up one of the claws, expertly twisting the shell until it cracked open with a satisfying snap. She offered the chunk of exposed meat to Clarke.

Clarke hesitated, then took it. She bit in and her eyes went wide.

The flavors were rich, salty, buttery with a hint of something sweet. The meat melted in her mouth.

“Okay,” Clarke said around the bite, “that’s insanely good.”

“Told you,” Luna said with a grin, cracking open another claw for herself. “You’ll never look at dried protein bars the same way again.”

Clarke laughed, fully relaxed for the first time since arriving. The water glistened around them, the air smelled of spice and sea, and for the first time in days, her mind wasn’t spinning with politics, war, or duty.

—

The morning sun broke across the horizon, casting warm gold over the rolling tides beyond Floukru’s sea village. Clarke had just finished her simple breakfast of fresh fruit and warm sea bread when she heard her name being called.

She turned from her perch on the edge of one of the wooden walkways, just in time to see Raven stepping off a narrow boat docked nearby.

Clarke’s mouth fell open in disbelief, a smile breaking across her face as she rushed to meet her.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Clarke said, laughing as she pulled Raven into a hug.

Raven squeezed her back tightly before pulling away with a half-smirk. “I told Lexa you’d run away eventually. I just didn’t think you’d swim to the edge of the world to do it.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “She sent you, didn’t she?”

Raven nodded. “With a message. You can stay here for as long as you need, but if you’re gone more than a week, the ambassadors will start asking questions. Ones Lexa can’t keep answering without consequences.”

Clarke’s smile faded slightly, the weight of her responsibilities creeping back in. But Raven reached over, nudging her shoulder.

“Hey. No pressure. Let’s just breathe for a bit, okay?”

Clarke nodded. “Yeah… okay.”

Later that afternoon, Luna offered to let them visit the nearby beach, one of the few places where the land jutted shallow and wide into the sea, forming soft sandbars that shimmered like gold under the sun.

Clarke and Raven rode in one of the sea carts pulled by a pair of quiet Floukru steeds, Luna’s trusted guard Derrick accompanying them. He was tall, dark-skinned, with long braids and a stoic expression, though Clarke had noticed he seemed fond of Luna, always staying a few steps closer to her than necessary.

Once at the beach, Clarke pulled off her boots and let her toes sink into the warm sand. The air here smelled less of brine and more of salt-kissed flowers that grew in clusters along the edge of the dunes. Small shells crunched underfoot as waves lapped gently at the shore.

“This is… incredible,” Raven murmured, already tugging her jacket off and letting the ocean breeze cool her.

Clarke smiled, watching her friend soak in the sun and peace. For a while, the two sat in the sand, talking idly, throwing shells toward the water, and watching Derrick pace a careful perimeter.

Eventually, Clarke spoke. “Thanks for coming.”

Raven looked at her, expression softening. “I always will.”

The sea breeze tangled Clarke’s hair as she sat near the water’s edge, knees drawn to her chest, the tide lapping at the sand a few feet away. The sky was streaked with soft orange and lavender, the sun beginning its descent. Raven lounged beside her, arms draped behind her head, eyes closed but clearly not asleep.

They’d been quiet for a while. Just existing. Letting the sound of the waves do the talking. It was nice, Clarke hadn’t realized how much she needed quiet that wasn’t loaded with expectation.

“I keep thinking about it,” Clarke said suddenly, her voice nearly lost in the wind.

Raven’s eyes opened, but she didn’t look over. “The Conclave.”

Clarke nodded slowly, then added, “I thought distance would make it easier to breathe, but it hasn’t. It just made the silence louder.”

Raven turned her head. “Did you tell her why you left?”

“No.” Clarke’s gaze stayed on the water. “I couldn’t. I just froze. I thought if I looked her in the eye, I’d break.”

Raven sat up, brushing the sand from her hands. “Clarke… she deserves to know. Lexa’s a lot of things, but she’s not a mind reader. If you’re going to be real partners you’ve got to face the hard stuff together.”

“I know,” Clarke murmured, voice cracking. “But how do you look someone in the eye and say, ‘I’m terrified that loving you might mean one day watching our child die for your legacy?’”

Raven sighed and rested her chin on her knees. “I don’t have a good answer for that. But I do know if anyone can change how things are, it’s probably the two of you together.”

Clarke was quiet again. The breeze shifted, salty and cool.

“She said it wouldn’t happen until she was gone,” Clarke said finally. “Like that made it okay. Like knowing I’d outlive her, and then maybe outlive a child, made it less horrifying.”

Raven’s hand found hers, fingers squeezing. “You’ve lost a lot, Clarke. I don’t blame you for running. But maybe it’s time to stop running and start rewriting the rules.”

Clarke looked over at her best friend, the fire in her dimmed but not extinguished.

“Do you think she’ll forgive me?” she asked.

Raven gave a small smile. “She already has.“

Chapter 13: Thirteen

Notes:

Hi guys, thank you for the support in the last chapter. Here’s 13 <3

By the third day, Clarke had found a rhythm in Floukru.

There was a strange kind of peace to it all. The sounds of crashing waves had replaced the hum of politics, and the salty air seemed to clear more than just her lungs. It gave her clarity. Still, Clarke was never one to sit idle, and when she wasn’t wandering the coast or helping Luna’s people with odd tasks, she was learning.

Today, that meant trailing after Shay.

The local healer was younger than Clarke expected, not much older than her, with dark skin and short coiled hair, always half-covered by a pale blue wrap. Her movements were swift but gentle, and she carried herself with the calm authority of someone who had earned the village’s trust. Clarke had come to admire her quickly.

“Hold this,” Shay said, nodding toward a long strip of iridescent fish skin that glinted like mother-of-pearl in the afternoon light.

Clarke took it, careful not to stretch the delicate piece. “What’s it for?”

“Burn treatment,” Shay answered, dipping a paste-covered hand into a bowl of powdered kelp. “We clean the wound with salt water, then wrap it in this. The scales hold moisture, and the oils fight infection.”

Clarke blinked, impressed. “I’ve never seen this used before. In Arkadia, we rely on salves and pressure bandages.”

“Well,” Shay said with a faint smile, “you don’t have oceans, do you?”

That comment lit a spark in Clarke’s brain.

“No, we don’t,” she muttered, the pieces falling into place. “But we do have tech. Solar filtration systems. Strong metals. Portable generators.”

Shay raised a brow. “Sounds like something we could use during storm season.”

Clarke nodded, already thinking ahead. “And your people could use electrical wiring for night lights, communication… maybe even desalination for fresh water. We could trade.”

“Trade?” Shay repeated, intrigued.

“Yeah,” Clarke said, standing a little straighter. “Seafood and medicinal goods like this fish skin for tech and raw supplies from Skaikru. The Coalition is strong, but this could strengthen it even further. Floukru would have more visibility. And my people… we’d gain access to healing methods and nutrition we’ve never had before.”

Shay considered it as she wrapped the treated strip around a villager’s wound. “Luna doesn’t usually involve herself in trade. We’re isolationist by nature.”

“But you’re still a part of the Coalition,” Clarke said. “And now that I’m an official ambassador, it’s part of my job to look for opportunities like this.”

“You think she’ll listen?”

“I think she will,” Clarke said with quiet confidence. 

They shared a look before Clarke gathered the notes she’d scrawled on a scrap of old cloth. It was a rudimentary draft of a trade proposal. Shay helped her fold it, her hands careful.

“We’ll bring it to Luna tomorrow,” Shay said, her tone warm.

As Clarke rolled the fish skin back into a tidy bundle, her curiosity finally won out. She glanced at Shay, who was quietly arranging jars of dried herbs on a nearby shelf.

“Can I ask something personal?” Clarke asked.

Shay paused, then nodded slowly. “You can ask.”

“Are you from Floukru? You don’t quite speak like them.”

Shay’s hands stilled over a tin of crushed sea fennel. Her gaze dropped, and her breath hitched just slightly before she answered.

“No,” she said, voice quieter now. “I was born in Azgeda.”

Clarke blinked in surprise. Azgeda. The very name carried with it an edge. Rough, dangerous, unrelenting. Shay didn’t fit that mold at all.

“You don’t… seem like most Azgeda I’ve met,” Clarke said carefully.

“I know,” Shay replied, her mouth twisting into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I stopped being one the day the queen murdered my family.”

Clarke’s breath caught. She said nothing, giving Shay the space to continue.

“She wanted to make a point,” Shay said, her voice steadier now. “My father was a healer. My mother ran a school. Neither of them supported her rule, and neither of them kept quiet about it.”

A pause.

“She had them executed in the square,” Shay continued, each word like a blade. “And my little brother, he was only seven. He tried to run to my father when it happened. They didn’t spare him either.”

Clarke felt her stomach turn.

“I barely escaped. The bounty on my head kept me running for weeks. I almost died before Floukru found me. Luna offered me sanctuary, no questions asked.”

“And you did?” Clarke asked softly.

“I did. And I’ve kept my oath. I don’t pick up blades. I don’t take lives. I use my hands for healing now.”

Clarke reached out, placing her hand gently over Shay’s. “I’m so sorry.”

Shay met her eyes. “Thank you.”

They stood in quiet understanding for a long moment.

“I still have nightmares,” Shay said, voice softer now. “But this place… it helped me find peace again.”

Clarke nodded, feeling the weight of the moment settle deep in her chest. The Coalition was so much more complex than she ever could have imagined. Woven together by pain, survival, and choices like Shay’s.

Clarke was quiet for a beat, Shay’s story still ringing in her ears. But something inside her stirred, something raw and painful. She looked down at the fish skin in her hands, then back up at Shay.

“They took my father too,” she said quietly.

Shay blinked. “Azgeda?”

Clarke nodded. “He was a good man. A diplomat. When we first came to this world, he tried to make peace with the clans… tried to understand them. But he was captured by Azgeda. Tortured. Killed.”

Shay’s expression tightened with sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

Clarke offered a small, broken smile. “So am I. I spent a long time blaming everyone… my mother, the coalition. But the truth is, his death started with Azgeda. And even after everything, they still try to break us.”

Shay nodded solemnly. “That’s why I stayed. Here. With Luna. There’s no place in Azgeda for people like us.”

“Or for peace,” Clarke murmured.

The two women sat in silence for a while, the waves crashing gently in the distance. Clarke felt a strange comfort sitting here beside someone who truly understood what it meant to lose family to cruelty and power. The weight in her chest eased just a little.

—

Lexa sat alone in her war room, the soft glow of the morning sun filtering in through the tall windows. Scrolls and ledgers lay untouched before her, her attention elsewhere. Her fingers traced the seal on the letter she’d received at dawn, the blue ink unmistakably Luna’s.

She broke it open and read carefully, heart tightening at every mention of Clarke.

Raven kom Skaikru arrived safely yesterday, as requested. Clarke was happy to see her. They’ve since spent most of their time along the coast, accompanied by Derrick. The air has done her good, she seems lighter.

Lexa exhaled slowly, closing her eyes for a moment. It was the first bit of peace she’d felt in days. Knowing Clarke was safe… happy, even. That mattered more than she’d expected it would.

She’s taken to visiting our healer often. The two have grown close. Shay mentioned that Clarke was fascinated by our use of fish skin for medicine. She asked about potential trade with Skaikru. Said it could benefit both of our people.

Lexa’s brow lifted in surprise. Even far from Polis, Clarke was thinking like an ambassador. A leader. Her instincts had always leaned toward diplomacy, finding connection where others saw only difference.

Lexa turned the letter over in her hands, rereading the last few lines.

She will return to you when by weeks end or when she’s ready. But for now, I believe the sea is giving her the clarity Polis could not. 

She folded the parchment with careful hands, setting it aside before rising to her feet. Her heart was aching, but steadier. Clarke had needed space, and Lexa had granted it.

A soft knock at the chamber doors pulled Lexa from her thoughts. She didn’t need to call out. Titus entered with the quiet efficiency of a man who had walked these halls nearly as long as she had.

He bowed his head briefly before speaking. “You received news?”

Lexa nodded, gesturing to the folded letter resting beside her. “Luna sent word. Raven arrived safely. Clarke is well. She’s been adapting.”

Titus stepped closer, his expression tight. “And yet she has not returned.”

Lexa stood from her place at the table, crossing her arms. “She will.”

There was a long pause. Then, predictably, Titus said, “You could still name another contender. There are others willing. Strong alliances could still be made, ones less fragile in the eyes of the Coalition. It would be easier. For the clans. For her.”

Lexa’s eyes flashed.

“I do not want another,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “Clarke is the only one who stood beside me when the ambassadors turned their backs. She earned her place. She continues to earn it.”

Titus didn’t speak, but Lexa could feel his disapproval simmering beneath the surface.

Titus bowed stiffly but said nothing as he turned and exited the room.

Lexa remained still for a long moment after, the silence of her chamber folding around her once more. Her fists unclenched slowly at her sides.

She would wait for Clarke, not as a ruler desperate for a political match, but as a partner working toward change.

—

The tide was low the next morning, the pale orange sun rising behind a curtain of sea mist. Clarke stood at the edge of the dock, the salt breeze tugging her curls loose from their braid. She had barely slept. Her mind churned restlessly, not with grief this time, but purpose.

Luna found her there not long after dawn, barefoot and wrapped in a pale robe, her hair still damp from the ocean. She moved without sound, but Clarke sensed her and turned, offering a tired smile.

“You’re up early,” Luna said as she stepped beside her.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Clarke admitted. “Too many ideas.”

Luna raised a brow in quiet amusement. “Ideas can be as heavy as grief, you know.”

Clarke laughed softly, eyes returning to the ocean. “Maybe. But these ideas… they might matter.”

Luna waited with her arms folded loosely across her chest, silently inviting her to continue.

“I wanted to talk about something I’ve been thinking about since I arrived,” Clarke said. “Two things, actually.”

Luna nodded, encouraging her.

“The Coalition has always been built on strength,” Clarke began. “It protects unity through fear and consequence. But your people have carved out something different. You’ve proven that peace doesn’t have to be passive. It can be a choice. A statement.”

Luna’s gaze remained steady. “It comes at a cost.”

“I know,” Clarke said, keeping her voice steady. “And I respect that. Which is why I think we should write it down.”

Luna tilted her head slightly.

“A formal agreement,” Clarke clarified. “A nonaggression pact. Not just a verbal understanding that Floukru doesn’t take part in war, but a Coalition-recognized document that protects your right to stay neutral. That promises no clan will infringe on your land, or your waters, or your people. Ever again.”

Luna’s expression shifted as a flicker of cautious hope passed across her features. “You think Lexa would allow that?”

Clarke took a slow breath. “Lexa believes in strength, but she also believes in peace. And she’s trying to change the way the Coalition works. If I bring her something solid with your seal and mine, she’ll listen. And if she agrees, the other clans will have to follow.”

Luna studied her a moment longer, then nodded once. “We would need protections. Language that guarantees safety from forced conscription, from raids, and from retaliation if we refuse to send fighters.”

“I’ve already started drafting it,” Clarke admitted as she reached into the satchel at her side and offered a folded parchment. “I’d like your input before I send it to Polis.”

Luna took the document with a reverence Clarke hadn’t expected. She looked up with eyes that were warmer now.

“You’re not just marrying the Commander, are you?”

Clarke shook her head. “No. I’m trying to shape a future I can live with.”

They walked back toward the main hut village, the sun rising higher now. The air was tinged with the scent of brine and firewood. As they passed the healer’s tent, Clarke paused.

“There’s something else,” she said. “Something harder.”

Luna turned to her. “Harder than rewriting the rules of war?”

Clarke hesitated. “I want to propose a safe haven program. For those who can’t go back to their clans. Or who don’t want to. People like Shay. Nightbloods who don’t want to fight. Or traitors seeking redemption.”

Luna was quiet for a long beat. Her face was unreadable.

“You want to send the broken and the outcast to my people?” she asked finally.

“No,” Clarke said gently. “I want to give them the option to choose peace like you did. I want to create a third path. One that doesn’t end in exile or death. But that means expanding what Floukru is.”

Luna exhaled slowly. “It’s dangerous. We’re already watched closely. Some believe we’re weak.”

“I know,” Clarke agreed. “But the Coalition needs proof that reform is possible. That peace doesn’t mean surrender. And I believe Floukru can be that proof.”

Luna looked out at the water. The gentle rolling of the tide reflected in her eyes. Then she nodded.

“If we do this, it will require new oaths. New rites of passage. We will have to prepare. Teach.”

“Then let me help,” Clarke offered. “When I return to Polis, I’ll present both proposals to Lexa and the Council. But if we do this, I want to do it right. Together.”

Luna was quiet for a long moment. Her gaze moved from the ocean to Clarke’s face.

“You’ve only been here a short time,” she said, “and already you’re trying to change the tide.”

“I don’t want to change you,” Clarke said softly. “I want to help others find the peace you’ve given me here.”

Luna smiled then, slow and warm. “You have my blessing. On both counts. If you can convince the Commander, we will open our waters.”

Clarke felt her chest tighten with relief.

“Thank you.”

“You may be the first ambassador in decades who tries to build something instead of maintain it,” Luna said. “I look forward to seeing what you do when you wed Lexa.”

Chapter 14: Fourteen

Notes:

Early morning (well late afternoon for you) update for my favorite Italian reader <3

Polis greeted them under a steel-colored sky, the high walls of the city looming with their usual solemnity. Clarke stood tall beside Raven as they dismounted just inside the gates. The guards had hesitated, wide-eyed and scrambling, recognizing the return of Skaikru’s heiress without warning or escort.

But Clarke hadn’t wanted fanfare. She wanted truth.

Raven shot her a quick look. “You okay?”

Clarke nodded, though her grip on the leather satchel slung over her shoulder tightened. “Go find Anya”

Raven smirked. “See you later Princess.”

Clarke offered a ghost of a smile. 

With that, Raven turned down a stone corridor, boots echoing. Clarke didn’t wait to be announced. She headed straight for the Commander’s tower.

Every guard she passed stiffened but moved aside. Some bowed. Others stared. She was no longer a stranger here.

By the time she reached Lexa’s war room, her heart was pounding. Not from nerves, but determination.

Two sentries at the heavy wooden doors recognized her. One opened his mouth to speak, likely to ask if she had an appointment, but Clarke spoke first.

“Let her know I’m here to speak about the Coalition. She’ll want to hear it.”

The guards exchanged glances, then one stepped inside.

Moments later, the door creaked open again.

“She’ll see you.”

Clarke stepped into the chamber.

Lexa sat behind her table, a small mountain of reports and diplomatic scrolls unfurled across it. Her shoulders tensed the moment she looked up, breath catching as her eyes found Clarke’s.

Clarke didn’t wait for pleasantries.

“I have proposals,” she said, crossing the room and laying the parchment on the table between them.

Lexa slowly rose, still staring, as if unsure Clarke was truly standing before her.

“You came back,” she said softly.

They stood like that for a long moment. Not touching. Not smiling. Just seeing one another.

Lexa glanced down at the parchment. “What is this?”

Clarke took a deep breath. “Two formal proposals. One is a written pact to protect Floukru’s neutrality, complete with suggested language for Council ratification. The other is a framework for a Coalition-wide sanctuary program, starting with Floukru as the pilot haven. A place for exiled individuals, abandoned nightbloods, and others who seek peace without violence.”

Lexa’s eyes lifted slowly from the scrolls. “You wrote this while you were gone?”

“With Luna. With Shay. With the people who live the life we talk about but rarely get to see.”

Lexa didn’t touch the parchment yet. Her expression was unreadable.

“You should have sent word,” she said finally, voice low. “You had me waking to an empty bed, half the Council whispering that you’d abandoned the alliance.”

Clarke’s gaze didn’t falter. “And if I had told you where I was going, would you have let me go?”

Lexa was quiet for a moment. Then, honestly, “No.”

“Then I made the right call.”

They stared at each other again, something sharper between them this time. Not anger. Not regret. Just the weight of love formed under fire.

Lexa finally reached for the first parchment, her eyes scanning Clarke’s elegant script, the language clearly rooted in the traditions of the Coalition.

“This is… strong,” she admitted.

“I learned from the best,” Clarke said softly.

Lexa let out a breath. “There will be resistance.”

“There always is,” Clarke replied. “But if we keep talking about peace, then we should build something that proves it.”

Lexa looked up, and this time, her eyes softened.

“You didn’t just come back,” she said. “You came back with a solution.”

“I came back with hope,” Clarke said. “Now we make it real.”

Lexa stepped around the table, parchment in hand.

“And I will stand beside you while we do.”

She reached out, her fingers brushing Clarke’s. This time, Clarke let them stay.

thumb brushed lightly across the back of Lexa’s, a soft and hesitant gesture.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke said, her voice barely above a whisper. “For leaving like that. It was selfish. I should’ve said something, given you some kind of warning.”

Lexa studied her, quiet for a long beat. “You were overwhelmed.”

“That’s not an excuse.” Clarke lifted her gaze, meeting Lexa’s eyes. “You deserved more than silence.”

Lexa exhaled through her nose, not angry, just tired, thoughtful.

“I understand why you left,” she said. “The Conclave, the weight of what our future could mean for any child we have, it’s terrifying. I’ve lived with that burden my whole life. And I should have explained it better. Sooner.”

Clarke’s jaw tensed. “I was so angry. Not just at you. At my mother, at the system. At the idea that a child might have to fight for their life before they even understand what that meant.”

Lexa nodded slowly. “You have every right to be angry. But I wish you had stayed. I wish you had talked to me instead of running. I… I needed you.”

Clarke’s eyes welled, and she stepped closer. “I needed you too. I think that’s what scared me most.”

Lexa’s brow softened, her expression shifting to something more vulnerable. “But you came back.”

“I came back,” Clarke confirmed. “Not just for you, but for this. For what we’re trying to build.”

Lexa’s hand came up to gently cup Clarke’s cheek. Her thumb brushed across her skin as if trying to memorize the feel of her.

“I’m glad,” she whispered.

Clarke leaned in, closing the distance.

Their lips met in a slow, lingering kiss. An apology. A promise. Something tender passed between them. Lexa’s hand moved to Clarke’s waist, anchoring her as Clarke tilted her head, deepening the kiss.

When they finally parted, Lexa rested her forehead against Clarke’s. “Next time you’re scared,” she said softly, “talk to me.”

Clarke nodded, whispering, “Okay.”

The papers still lay between them, full of diplomacy and planning, but for now, they were just Clarke and Lexa. 

“You’re even more sun-kissed than when you left,” she murmured, a small smile curving her lips. “Floukru suits you.”

Clarke flushed beneath the compliment, her skin warm under Lexa’s touch. “It was peaceful. But it wasn’t home.”

Lexa’s smile deepened, a flicker of something tender lighting her eyes. She tilted her head slightly. “You called Polis your home.”

Clarke’s lips parted for a moment as if to answer, but then she paused, letting the truth settle in her chest before she spoke it aloud. Her eyes found Lexa’s, steady and sure.

“Anywhere you are is my home.”

Lexa’s breath caught, the weight of Clarke’s words hitting her with quiet force. Her hand still rested against Clarke’s cheek, thumb brushing the soft edge of her jaw.

“Clarke,” she started, but didn’t finish.

She didn’t have to.

Clarke leaned in and closed the distance between them, pressing their foreheads together again. For a moment, there were no titles. No politics. Just them, anchored in each other.

—

Lexa stood tall at the head of the war table in her chambers, scrolls of parchment unrolled before her. The flickering light of the nearby hearth cast a warm glow across her features as the door creaked open and Titus stepped inside.

“You summoned me, Heda,” he said, bowing his head in reverence.

Lexa nodded. “Clarke returned this morning. She brought proposals from Floukru. I wanted your thoughts.”

Titus stepped forward, his eyes quickly scanning the first document. His brow furrowed. “Trade routes between Skaikru and Floukru? Conditional resource-sharing based on pacifist integration?” He looked up, his tone already tightening. “You’re entertaining this?”

Lexa didn’t flinch. “It’s not only viable. It’s forward-thinking. Clarke’s proposals open lines of diplomacy we’ve never explored. Peace doesn’t always have to come by the sword.”

Titus set the scroll down, visibly restraining his disdain. “That one is naïve. But it is nothing compared to this.” He unrolled the second scroll, his expression darkening. “A reformation of the Conclave system? You would undo centuries of tradition?”

“I would evolve it,” Lexa replied coolly. “The culling of nightbloods, children, Titus, has always haunted me. We have slaughtered potential leaders under the guise of strength, and now we are dwindling in number. What happens if I fall and no suitable nightblood stands ready? What happens if the last one dies before they even reach training age?”

Titus’s jaw tensed. “This is dangerous thinking. The Conclave has protected us for generations. It ensures only the strongest ascend.”

“And what if there is no one left to ascend?” Lexa snapped, her calm cracking for just a moment. “How strong will the Coalition be then? If we keep killing our own bloodline, the line of Commanders will die with me.”

Titus stepped back, unsettled by her words. “These ideas, they’ll be questioned. The Ambassadors will see them as weakness.”

Lexa exhaled sharply, her voice lower now but still firm. “Then let them question it. Let them see a Commander who looks to the future, who values life and legacy over blind tradition. I have made my choice, Titus. We will reform the Conclave. Slowly, with structure. But it starts now.”

Titus looked at her, eyes narrowed with worry and disapproval, but he did not argue further.

He bowed stiffly. “As you command, Heda.”

Lexa watched him leave, her shoulders still tight with tension. But even as doubt flickered in the back of her mind, her resolve was unshaken.

—

The council chamber simmered with unease. Lexa stood alone at the head of the table, her posture composed, her voice even as she addressed the gathered ambassadors.

“This council is assembled to consider two matters. The first is the proposed trade expansion between Floukru and Skaikru. The second is a restructuring of the Conclave process to preserve our natblida population.”

The ambassadors exchanged glances. Titus stood silently behind her, observing every reaction.

“The trade proposal is sound,” the Delfikru ambassador said. “Floukru’s resources are unlike any other. The sea gives them strength. Aligning with Skaikru is practical.”

Others offered brief nods of agreement. No one objected.

Then came the more sensitive issue.

“We weaken ourselves,” Lexa continued. “The death of each natblida before they reach the age to participate in a Conclave puts the future of the Command in danger. This proposal does not eliminate tradition, only adjusts it to protect our succession.”

Silence stretched. The Trishanakru ambassador leaned forward.

“Adjusting the Conclave is dangerous. It has always been survival of the strongest. Changing that foundation might fracture trust.”

Before Lexa could respond, Echo stood.

“The trust is already broken. You want to preserve natblidas, but at what cost? You bend to Skaikru. We all see it.”

Her voice rang through the chamber, sharp as a blade. Lexa met her gaze without flinching.

“This is not about Skaikru. It is about the survival of the Command.”

Echo stepped forward. Her tone grew colder.

“You would rather coddle children than forge leaders through combat. You favor peace over power. You listen to the wrong voices.”

Murmurs erupted along the table.

“I call for a vote of no confidence,” Echo said.

Gasps followed. Titus stepped forward.

“You would challenge her now, when the Coalition has never been stronger?”

“I challenge her weakness,” Echo snapped. “Her hesitation. Her compromises.”

The Sangedakru ambassador nodded.

“I second the vote.”

Others followed. Five raised their hands. Just enough.

Lexa looked over the room, her expression unreadable.

“The vote is confirmed. As is your right, Queen Nia may name a champion.”

Echo gave a slight bow, her smirk unmistakable.

Lexa left the chamber, her footsteps quiet but firm.

Titus lingered behind, jaw clenched. He knew what was coming. He just didn’t know if Lexa would survive it.

—

Clarke sat cross-legged on her bed, a book open across her lap. She wasn’t really reading. Her thoughts kept drifting to the proposals, to the way Lexa had squeezed her hand before heading into the council chamber that morning. Hopeful. Determined. Unshakable.

The door burst open with a loud bang. Clarke jumped, the book falling from her lap as Raven and Octavia rushed inside.

Clarke stood immediately. “What happened?”

Octavia’s face was tight with disbelief. Raven didn’t say anything at first, just paced back and forth like she couldn’t contain herself.

“There was a vote,” Octavia said, voice sharp. “On your proposals. Floukru trade was fine. But the Conclave reforms…”

“They didn’t take it well,” Raven interrupted. “Especially Azgeda. Their ambassador accused Lexa of being weak. Of bowing to you.”

Clarke blinked, the words barely registering. “What?”

“She called a no confidence vote,” Raven continued. “Enough of the ambassadors sided with her. It passed.”

“No,” Clarke breathed, stepping around her bed. “No, that’s not—what does that mean? What happens now?”

“She has to fight,” Octavia said quietly. “To the death.”

Clarke’s stomach dropped. “Who?”

“Whoever Queen Nia chooses,” Raven answered.

Clarke’s knees nearly gave out. She grabbed the edge of the table to steady herself, her pulse racing. Her mouth was dry, the air suddenly thick.

“They challenged her?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“They’re calling it weakness,” Octavia said, her tone bitter. “They’re using your ideas against her. The idea of protecting natblidas instead of training them to kill each other…”

“They twisted it,” Raven snapped. “They always twist it.”

Clarke shook her head. “Why didn’t she tell me? Why wasn’t I at the meeting?”

“She probably didn’t want you to be,” Octavia said gently. “She knew what it could turn into.”

Clarke moved to the door.

“Clarke,” Raven called, stepping forward, “what are you going to do?”

Clarke turned back, her voice firm. “Find her.”

And with that, she was gone.

Chapter 15: Fifteen

Notes:

If you are located anywhere on the east coast of the US, and are experiencing the same insane heat wave as me. Stay cool!

Here’s the next chapter (:

It was official. Lexa would face Roan of Azgeda, the queen’s own son, in a fight to the death.

Clarke paced back and forth in their chambers, her heart hammering in her chest. Her mind ran in circles with worry, dread building with each passing minute. She barely registered the sound of the door opening, only stopped when Lexa stepped inside, still in her formal robes from the meeting, shoulders squared but eyes tired.

Without thinking, Clarke rushed toward her. “You can’t do this.”

Lexa blinked at her, taken aback by the bluntness. “Clarke—”

“No,” Clarke interrupted. “Roan is strong. He’s brutal. I’ve seen what he’s done to our people. You might not make it out of this.”

Lexa’s expression hardened, but her voice stayed even. “Do you doubt my strength?”

Clarke hesitated, her fear too raw to cushion the truth. “I don’t know. I’ve seen Roan fight. I haven’t seen you.”

Lexa stepped closer, her presence suddenly larger than the room could hold. “You’ve never seen me fight,” she said, her voice lower, sharper. The words sent a chill down Clarke’s spine.

“I’ve fought men twice his size,” Lexa continued. “I’ve won battles you’ve only heard stories about. The only reason I’ve survived this long is because I am strong. Stronger than Roan. Stronger than anyone who’s ever tried to take this from me.”

Clarke swallowed hard, her defiance cracking. “And if you’re not?”

Lexa’s expression softened just slightly. “Then I die. And the next Commander will protect you. Protect Skaikru. That is how our line works.”

“No,” Clarke said quietly, her voice breaking. “I don’t want another Commander. I want you.”

Lexa reached out and cupped Clarke’s face in both hands. “Then have faith in me.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know.”

They stood there, nose to nose, Clarke’s breath trembling against Lexa’s lips. Lexa leaned in and kissed her softly, reassuring and grounding. Then she pulled back and whispered, “I will win.”

Lexa had just pulled away from their embrace, steeling herself for the battle ahead, when Clarke’s hand caught hers again.

“Marry me,” Clarke said, her voice steady, but her eyes searching Lexa’s.

Lexa froze. Her lips parted, but no words came. Then, a startled laugh slipped out as she blinked at Clarke. “Clarke… after the fight.”

“No,” Clarke said firmly. “Today. Before the fight.”

Lexa’s brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Because I want to be yours,” Clarke said, taking a step closer. “Completely. In every way. Not tomorrow, not if you win, not if the politics settle down. Now. While we still have a choice.”

Lexa was quiet for a moment, her jaw tightening as emotion flickered across her features. “You want a wedding before I might die.”

“I want to be yours before you go in there,” Clarke said. “So no matter what happens, you’ll know I chose you. Fully. And if you don’t come back to me—” her voice cracked, “—I want you to know you were already my wife.”

Lexa reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind Clarke’s ear. Her fingers lingered on Clarke’s cheek. “We don’t have time for a ceremony.”

“We don’t need one,” Clarke said. “Raven and Octavia can be witnesses. Anya can officiate. It doesn’t need to be grand. Just real.”

Lexa’s throat worked as she swallowed. She let out a slow breath. “You’re serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

Silence hung between them for a beat, and then Lexa nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Then let’s do it.”

Clarke surged forward, pressing a kiss to her lips that felt like a vow. A promise forged in fire.

—

The sun had just begun its descent, casting a golden haze across the Commander’s private garden. The stone walls were lined with ivy, and soft candlelight flickered from sconces embedded in the stone. The scent of jasmine lingered in the warm air, and only the soft hum of the evening breeze accompanied them.

It was quiet. Intimate. Sacred.

Clarke stood in front of Lexa, her hands slightly trembling as they were gently held by the Commander. She wore a simple ivory tunic, cinched at the waist, and her hair fell freely over her shoulders. Lexa wore her forest green robe with silver trim, the armor discarded, her hair braided neatly back. In this moment, she wasn’t the Commander of the Coalition. She was just Lexa.

Raven and Octavia stood off to the side, both quiet, both awestruck. Raven wore a rare look of reverence, while Octavia watched with misty eyes and a proud smile.

Anya stepped forward slowly, her expression serious as she regarded them. She wore ceremonial Trikru dress, dark leather with green stitching, a band braided into her hair. In her hand was a small carved wooden emblem of the Flame, which she held between them.

“Do you stand together freely?” Anya asked, voice even but firm, speaking in both English and Trigedasleng.

“We do,” they answered in unison.

“Do you pledge yourselves to each other, in strength and in peace, in loyalty and in trust, to walk as one through all trials to come?”

Clarke looked into Lexa’s eyes, voice catching for only a moment before she said, “I do.”

Lexa held Clarke’s gaze, her expression open and unwavering. “I do.”

Anya took their joined hands and wrapped a thin braid of twine around them, green and ivory threads woven together, symbolizing their clans. “Then by the bond you share and the promise you’ve made, let it be known that you are one heart, one soul. Bound by choice, not by blood or throne, but by love.”

She stepped back, giving them space. “You may seal it.”

Lexa leaned forward slowly, her forehead resting against Clarke’s for just a moment before their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss. It wasn’t rushed or urgent, just full of meaning. Of love, and choice, and hope.

When they pulled apart, Clarke was smiling through tears.

“Congratulations,” Anya said with a rare smile of her own.

—

The door clicked shut behind them, sealing Lexa and Clarke in the dimly lit room. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind that made every breath feel heavier, every heartbeat louder. Lexa’s hand lingered on the doorknob for a moment, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. She turned to face Clarke, her eyes dark with a hunger that had been building all day—no, all their lives.

Clarke stood just a few steps away, her chest rising and falling as if she’d just run a marathon. Her dress clung to her curves, the fabric shimmering faintly in the soft glow of the candles scattered around the room. She bit her lower lip, her blue eyes locking onto Lexa’s with an intensity that made the air between them crackle.

“We’re married,” Clarke whispered, her voice barely audible, as if saying it too loudly might shatter the moment.

Lexa stepped closer, her boots silent against the wooden floor. “We are,” she replied, her voice low and rough, like gravel. Her hand reached out, brushing a strand of golden hair from Clarke’s face. The touch was feather-light, but it sent a shiver down Clarke’s spine.

Lexa’s other hand found Clarke’s waist, pulling her closer until their bodies were pressed together. Clarke could feel the heat radiating from Lexa, the firmness of her muscles beneath her clothes. She tilted her head up, her lips parting slightly as Lexa leaned in. Their breaths mingled, warm and urgent, before their lips finally met.

The kiss was slow at first, a gentle exploration of each other’s mouths. But it didn’t stay that way for long. Lexa’s tongue slid against Clarke’s, coaxing a soft moan from her throat. Clarke’s hands tangled in Lexa’s hair, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss until it was all-consuming.

Lexa’s hands moved lower, gripping Clarke’s hips as she walked her backward toward the bed. Clarke’s legs hit the edge, and she stumbled slightly, but Lexa caught her, lowering her onto the mattress with a gentleness that belied the fire in her eyes.

Lexa climbed onto the bed, straddling Clarke’s hips. Her hands moved to the straps of Clarke’s dress, sliding them down her shoulders with deliberate slowness. The fabric pooled around Clarke’s waist, revealing the soft curves of her breasts. Lexa’s gaze darkened as she took in the sight, her fingers tracing the delicate lines of Clarke’s collarbone before moving lower.

Clarke arched into Lexa’s touch, her breath hitching as Lexa’s fingers brushed over her nipples. They hardened instantly under her attention, and Lexa leaned down, capturing one in her mouth. Clarke gasped, her hands flying to Lexa’s head as she sucked and teased, her tongue swirling around the sensitive peak.

Lexa’s hands continued their exploration, sliding down Clarke’s sides to grip her hips once more. She shifted lower on the bed, her lips leaving a trail of kisses down Clarke’s stomach. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of Clarke’s panties, pulling them down slowly, inch by torturous inch.

Clarke lifted her hips to help, her heart pounding in her chest as Lexa tossed the fabric aside. Lexa’s hands spread Clarke’s thighs, her eyes drinking in the sight of her. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of Clarke’s thigh, then another, each one closer to her core.

When Lexa’s tongue finally touched her, Clarke let out a strangled cry, her back arching off the bed. Lexa’s hands held her hips firmly in place as she licked and teased, her tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes that had Clarke trembling beneath her.

“Lexa,” Clarke moaned, her fingers tangling in the sheets. “Please…”

Lexa didn’t need to be told twice. She increased the pressure, her tongue circling Clarke’s clit before dipping inside her. Clarke’s hips bucked against her face, but Lexa held her steady, her movements relentless.

Clarke’s moans grew louder, more desperate, her body tightening as pleasure coiled deep within her. She was close, so close, and Lexa knew it. She added a finger, then another, curling them just right as she continued to lick and suck.

Clarke came with a cry, her body shuddering as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Lexa didn’t stop until Clarke’s tremors subsided, only then pulling back to look up at her with a satisfied smirk.

“My beautiful wife,” Lexa murmured, crawling back up Clarke’s body to capture her lips in a searing kiss. Clarke could taste herself on Lexa’s tongue, and it only made her want more.

Lexa broke the kiss long enough to strip off her own clothes, revealing the hard lines of her body and the evidence of her own arousal. Clarke’s eyes widened as she took in the sight of Lexa’s cock, thick and heavy between her legs.

Lexa positioned herself between Clarke’s thighs, her tip pressing against Clarke’s entrance. She paused, her eyes searching Clarke’s for any sign of hesitation. There was none—only desire, raw and unbridled.

Lexa pushed inside slowly, giving Clarke time to adjust to the stretch. Clarke’s breath hitched as Lexa filled her, inch by glorious inch. When Lexa was fully sheathed inside her, they both stilled for a moment, savoring the feeling of being so completely connected.

Then Lexa began to move, her hips rolling in a slow, steady rhythm that had Clarke moaning with every thrust. Her hands gripped Clarke’s hips, holding her in place as she drove into her again and again.

Clarke wrapped her legs around Lexa’s waist, pulling her deeper. Her nails dug into Lexa’s back as pleasure built within her once more, hotter and more intense than before.

“Lexa,” Clarke gasped, her voice breaking on the name.

Lexa’s pace quickened, her thrusts becoming harder, more urgent. She could feel Clarke tightening around her, could hear the way her breath came in short, desperate gasps.

Clarke  came, her body convulsing as another orgasm ripped through her. Lexa followed soon after, her hips stuttering as she buried herself deep inside Clarke and spilled into her with a low groan.

They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies still joined as they caught their breath. Then Lexa pulled out slowly, collapsing beside Clarke on the bed. She reached for Clarke’s hand, intertwining their fingers as they lay there in the afterglow.

“I love you,” Clarke whispered, turning her head to look at Lexa.

Lexa smiled softly, bringing Clarke’s hand to her lips and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “And I love you,” she replied. “Always.”

The candlelight in their chambers burned low, casting soft, flickering shadows across the walls.

For a while, neither of them spoke. There was a reverence in the silence, something sacred in the way they held one another, as if letting go, even for a moment, would break whatever fragile magic was binding them together.

But the moment couldn’t stretch forever.

Clarke shifted slightly, lifting her chin to meet Lexa’s gaze. Her voice was barely above a whisper, fragile around the edges. “Promise me you’ll survive tomorrow.”

Lexa’s jaw clenched, just slightly. She didn’t answer right away.

Clarke’s hand came up, brushing against Lexa’s cheek. “Please. I know you’re strong, I know, but I just… I can’t lose you. Not now.”

Lexa turned toward her, brushing back a piece of hair that had fallen over Clarke’s eyes. “Clarke,” she said softly, “you know I have to do this.”

“I know,” Clarke said quickly. “And I’m not asking you to run from it. I’m asking you to come back. To survive, for me. For this.”

Lexa’s eyes searched hers, unreadable at first. Then she exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing beneath Clarke’s touch. “I want to. I want to come back to you.”

Clarke nodded, leaning in to press her forehead to Lexa’s. “We’re married now. We’re supposed to have a future. We’re supposed to make things better. Together.”

Lexa closed her eyes. “I’ll come back to you.”

Clarke let out a shaky breath, one hand still cupping Lexa’s face. “Good. Because I’m not done loving you yet.”

Chapter 16: Sixteen

Notes:

Uh oh, my finger slipped and I accidentally posted 2 chapters in 1 day. Silly me

The night was quiet, but Clarke was not. The stillness of Polis outside her window only made the storm in her chest feel louder.

She tossed in bed, eyes wide open in the darkness. Every time she closed them, she saw Lexa bleeding in the arena. She saw Roan standing over her, sword raised. She saw a world without her.

Clarke sat up and rubbed her face with both hands, exhaling sharply. She couldn’t let that happen. 

Moments later, she was slipping on her boots, wrapping herself in a cloak, and stepping out into the halls of the tower. The guards posted near her door gave her questioning glances, but no one stopped her. Everyone knew better than to question the future wife of the Commander, especially when she walked like she had purpose.

The tower was still, save for the crackle of torches lining the corridor. No one stopped her. She walked with purpose, even if her thoughts were a mess of fear and desperation. She hadn’t told Lexa where she was going, part of her didn’t even know herself until her feet took her toward the lower cells.

She had only seen Roan once, from a distance, shortly after her father was killed. He was taller than most, broad and quiet, and carried a heavy shadow wherever he walked. Lexa had told her he was once a prince, now imprisoned for crimes against the crown. And now, he was the Ice Nation’s chosen challenger to fight her wife.

Two guards stood at attention outside the dungeon door. One looked up as Clarke approached.

“I need to speak with the prisoner,” Clarke said, voice steady.

One of the guards blinked. “At this hour?”

Clarke fixed him with a look. “I wasn’t asking.”

They hesitated, but stepped aside.

The dungeon was colder than she expected, the air damp and sharp with rust and stone. A single torch burned near the end of the hallway, casting flickering shadows over the figure chained to the wall.

Roan.

He stood as she approached, his height and the low light making him appear almost spectral. His face was bruised, jaw squared, long dark hair brushing his shoulders. He studied her with quiet calculation.

“You’re Skaikru,” he said, voice rough. “Clarke.”

She swallowed, stopping just outside his cell.

“You know who I am.”

“I’ve heard the stories,” Roan said. “The girl who fell in love with the Commander. The healer who became a politician.”

Clarke bristled. “I didn’t come to talk about stories.”

“Then what did you come for?” he asked. “To ask me to go easy on her? To throw the fight?”

“No,” Clarke said. “I came to ask why you’re doing this.”

Roan’s eyes didn’t waver. “My mother wants power. This is how she plans to take it.”

“But what do you want?” Clarke pressed.

Roan was quiet for a long time. Then: “I want to see my people thrive.“

Clarke stepped closer. “Then don’t let her use you. I know you don’t want to kill Lexa.”

“She’s the Commander,” he said. “She’s the one in my way.”

“She’s your only chance to break the cycle,” Clarke replied. “You could lead Azgeda your own way. But not like this. Not through more blood.”

Roan tilted his head. “Are you asking me to die?”

“No,” she said, voice steady despite her racing heart. “I want you to live. I want you to become king.”

Roan blinked, taken aback. The chains rustled again as he stood slowly, stepping closer to the bars. “You want me to be king?”

Clarke nodded. “Lexa doesn’t want war. She wants to change the way things are done, to stop the slaughter of nightblood children, to forge alliances through peace. She’s trying to reshape this world, and that’s why the ambassadors fear her.”

“And you think I’d do any better?” Roan asked, skeptical.

“I think you don’t want to be anyone’s pawn,” she replied. “And neither does Lexa. This fight is just the Queen’s way of keeping her grip on power. But if you lived and ruled, you could change that. Lead Azgeda away from the bloodlust, or at least give the Coalition a leader who doesn’t answer to her.”

He studied her for a long moment. “You’re asking me to betray my mother.”

“I’m asking you to survive,” Clarke said. “And maybe help shape a future where we don’t solve everything with a blade.”

Roan exhaled, his gaze flicking away. “You’re bold, Clarke of Skaikru. I’ll give you that.”

She held his gaze. “Just think about it.”

She turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing through the stone hall, leaving Roan standing silent in the firelight, chains still but eyes alight with possibility.

—

The air in Polis felt heavier than usual, thick with anticipation. Word of the fight had spread like wildfire through the tower and into the streets. People from every clan had arrived for the spectacle, the arena already packed with those eager to witness blood, legacy, or perhaps even change.

But before stepping into battle, Lexa had one final stop to make.

Clarke walked beside her through the halls, their steps silent but sure. Lexa led her to a quiet training courtyard tucked behind the main tower, where sunlight filtered through stone pillars and laughter echoed faintly.

There, a dozen children stood in a semi-circle, wooden staffs gripped in disciplined hands, eyes trained on their instructor. They were nightbloods, the future.

Clarke watched in silence, her gaze scanning the group. Their ages ranged from young to nearly grown, their foreheads streaked with sweat, but their expressions carried the weight of something older. They were being trained for war, for rule, for sacrifice.

When the session ended, the children lined up and bowed to Lexa in unison. She returned the gesture with a solemn nod and softly dismissed them. As they began to file out, one lingered.

A boy, tall for his age with sharp eyes and quiet confidence. Clarke noticed how the others subtly deferred to him, following his lead even in dismissal. Lexa called him by name.

“Aden.”

He stepped forward and bowed again. “Heda.”

Clarke smiled gently, nodding her own greeting. Lexa turned to her.

“He is the most promising of the class. If I fall today, it is likely he will succeed me.”

Clarke’s heart clenched. She knelt to be eye level with him.

“How old are you, Aden?”

“Fourteen,” he answered clearly.

Lexa crossed her arms, her voice measured. “Tell us, Aden. If you were chosen to ascend today, what would your first action as Commander be?”

Aden didn’t hesitate. “I would pledge my loyalty to the thirteenth clan. To Skaikru.”

Clarke’s breath caught. Her throat tightened with emotion, but she forced herself to speak.

“Thank you.“

Lexa placed a hand on Aden’s shoulder, then gave him a nod of dismissal. He bowed once more before turning to join the others, disappearing down the corridor.

When they were alone again, Clarke turned to Lexa.

“He’s just a boy.”

Lexa nodded. “They all are. I was younger than him when I was chosen.”

Clarke reached for her hand. “You shouldn’t have to be.”

Lexa turned to Clarke, her fingers brushing along Clarke’s jaw as the training yard emptied behind them. The tension of what was to come loomed between them, and Clarke’s breath hitched, her throat tightening at the weight of it.

“I have to prepare,” Lexa said softly, her voice nearly lost to the rustle of distant crowds. “But before I go…”

She leaned in, kissing Clarke with a fierceness that spoke of fear, of love, of unspoken promises. It wasn’t gentle. It was long, desperate, memorized. A goodbye, just in case.

Clarke held her close, one hand tangled in Lexa’s robes, the other pressed to her chest where her heart thudded strong and steady.

When Lexa finally pulled away, her forehead rested against Clarke’s. “No matter what happens, you keep pushing forward. Promise me.”

Clarke nodded, her voice shaking. “I promise. But you’re coming back to me.”

Lexa gave her a final look, something soft and determined in her green eyes, before she turned and disappeared down the corridor with her guards in tow.

Clarke stood still for a moment before making her way to the arena, where a raised platform had been built for the high council. The sound of the crowd grew louder as she climbed the stone steps. She moved past the guards and took her seat beside Titus, Anya, and Queen Nia.

She sat tall and unflinching, her ice-blue eyes scanning the crowd with cool detachment. Beside her, Anya leaned back with a calculating look, her arms crossed. Titus, ever somber, offered Clarke a glance and a short nod.

From her seat, Clarke could see the whole arena ringed with people from every clan, standing shoulder to shoulder in anticipation. Roan was already in the pit, his muscular form pacing slowly, blade in hand. He looked calm, controlled, deadly.

And then the gates on the opposite side of the arena opened.

Lexa stepped out into the sunlight, her armor gleaming, her face unreadable. She moved like a shadow wrapped in command, every step precise, every breath measured.

Clarke’s heart beat so loud in her ears it drowned out the roar of the crowd.

This was the Commander.

This was her wife.

And this was the fight that could change everything.

The crowd fell silent as the two warriors faced each other in the pit. Roan, son of the Ice Queen, armed and hulking. Lexa, calm and composed, her sword held at the ready.

Clarke gripped the edge of her seat, every muscle tense. She could barely hear anything over the rush of blood in her ears.

Lexa made the first move, striking quick and clean. Roan met her blade with his own, the sound of steel against steel ringing through the arena. Their fight was brutal and elegant. Lexa’s movements were precise, her training evident in every calculated swing. Roan, bigger and heavier, fought with force and endurance.

Clarke’s breath caught in her throat as Lexa took a hit to the side. She stumbled but didn’t fall. She twisted away, bringing her sword up to block a strike that would’ve shattered bone. Roan pressed harder, forcing her to retreat.

 

With a roar, he struck her hard across the chest with the hilt of his blade. Lexa hit the ground with a thud, dust rising around her. Clarke stood before she realized it, heart hammering in panic.

“Lexa—”

But Lexa wasn’t finished.

Just as Roan raised his blade for the final blow, Lexa swung her legs out from under him, sweeping him off his feet. He crashed to the ground beside her, stunned. In one smooth motion, she was on top of him, blade at his throat.

The crowd was silent. Not even the wind dared speak.

Roan stared up at her, chest heaving, his eyes tired but unafraid. “Just do it,” he said, voice rough.

Clarke held her breath.

Lexa didn’t move for a moment. Then, slowly, her gaze lifted past Roan, up to the royal box where Queen Nia sat stone-faced, waiting.

Lexa stood.

Roan’s eyes widened as she stepped away from him, spinning on her heel. Clarke’s mouth parted, not understanding until Lexa raised her sword and, with one swift and graceful movement, launched it like a spear.

It flew across the arena and struck Queen Nia in the chest, pinning her to her throne. The queen’s eyes widened in shock before her body slumped, lifeless.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Clarke’s own gasp was silent, her hand clamped over her mouth as Lexa turned back toward them.

“The queen is dead,” Lexa called out, her voice fierce and unwavering. “Long live the king.”

She nodded toward Roan, who had risen to one knee. The crowd looked to him, then back to the Commander.

And just like that, power shifted.

Roan bowed his head, accepting the mantle his mother had ruled with an iron grip. This was no longer a fight for blood. It was a decision. A mercy. A declaration of Lexa’s strength and her capacity for change.

Clarke’s legs finally gave, and she sank into her seat, shaking with the weight of it all relief, awe, and love so fierce it ached.

—

Clarke was pacing when the door finally opened.

Lexa stepped in slowly, her armor marked with blood and dust, her movements tight with pain. Her braid was coming undone, a long cut ran along her temple, and her posture was guarded. But she was alive.

Clarke rushed forward without thinking, throwing her arms around her. Lexa let out a sharp gasp, her breath hitching painfully as Clarke’s embrace pressed against her side.

Clarke immediately loosened her hold and stepped back, eyes wide. “I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry. Are you… Lexa, you’re hurt.”

Lexa nodded faintly, lips tightening against the pain. “It’s alright. You just found the bruised side.”

Clarke guided her gently toward the bed, urgency softening into concern. “Sit. Let me look.”

Lexa obeyed, dropping onto the edge of the mattress with a quiet grunt. Clarke kneeled in front of her, unlacing the fastenings of her chest plate with careful fingers. As she pulled the armor away, a deep bruise bloomed across her ribs, angry and purple.

“Broken rib,” Clarke muttered, more to herself. “You need to be bandaged and resting.”

“There wasn’t time for the healers,” Lexa said quietly, her eyes watching Clarke’s face instead of her hands. “I just wanted to see you.”

Clarke’s chest tightened. She looked up, brushing a damp strand of hair from Lexa’s forehead. “You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t.”

“You almost did.” Clarke’s voice cracked, and she paused, grounding herself in the warmth of Lexa’s skin. “That moment, when Roan had you, I thought I was going to lose you.”

Lexa reached for her hand. “But you didn’t.”

Clarke took a breath, steadying herself as she pulled bandages and salve from the nearby kit. “You need to rest, Commander.”

Lexa smiled faintly. “That’s wife, to you.”

Clarke laughed softly despite the tears that burned in her eyes. “Then lie back, wife, and let me take care of you.”

Lexa eased herself back with a quiet sigh as Clarke worked, her touch gentle and firm. 

Lexa winced slightly as Clarke tightened the bandage around her side, but she didn’t complain. Her fingers grazed Clarke’s wrist, and she watched her with a tired but amused smile.

“We should begin planning the wedding soon,” Lexa said softly.

Clarke let out a laugh, quiet but incredulous. “Lexa, we’re already married.”

Lexa tilted her head, that familiar glint of teasing formality flickering behind her eyes. “That was a private ceremony. For us. But the alliance still expects a formal one. With the full traditions. Witnesses. Vows before the Coalition.”

Clarke raised a brow, settling beside her on the bed. “You just survived a fight to the death and you’re already thinking about table arrangements?”

Lexa smirked. “The alliance depends on appearances.”

Clarke leaned in, brushing a kiss to her cheek. “We’ll talk about that when you can walk more than ten steps without gasping.”

Lexa chuckled, wincing slightly at the effort. “Deal.”

Clarke curled beside her, careful of her injuries, her hand resting lightly over Lexa’s heart. For the moment, everything else could wait.

Chapter 17: Seventeen

Notes:

On a roll this week, i’ll be busy all weekend then on vacation after. Not sure how much i’ll update but Ch. 18 is already written.

Boss makes a dollar, I make a dime… No but I really have little work to do and its slow so enjoy!

The midday sun poured softly through the high windows of the council chamber, catching dust motes in its light as Clarke sat hunched over a table strewn with parchment. Swirling calligraphy marked guest names, tentative seat arrangements, and long lists of customs Lexa’s advisors insisted upon. Clarke twirled a charcoal pencil between her fingers, her head beginning to ache from the planning.

Across from her, Raven was lounging, if one could lounge while correcting names written in Trigedasleng, with a half-eaten tart in one hand and a look of mild amusement on her face.

“You know, for two people who already snuck off and got married, you’re putting in a hell of a lot of effort pretending like you haven’t,” she said, smirking.

Clarke rolled her eyes, setting down her pencil. “You try telling a room full of ambassadors that a secret wedding counts.”

“I would, but I like living,” Raven muttered. “Alright, we’ve got invites going to Azgeda, Trikru, Floukru, Louwoda, Trishana—“

“How many weeks has it been?” Clarke interrupted suddenly, eyes fixed on the far wall.

Raven looked up. “What?”

Clarke turned her head slowly, pale beneath the sunlight. “Since we got back from Floukru. Since the engagement party.”

Raven frowned. “I don’t know… about four weeks? Why?”

Clarke didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she pressed her hand to her stomach instinctively, a sudden wave of nausea rising in her chest. She’d been distracted, between the engagement, Lexa’s fight, healing wounds, and political balancing acts. But now it struck her like a weight. She hadn’t bled since before Floukru.

And her implant… Gods, when had she last had it checked?

“Clarke?” Raven asked, sitting forward. “What’s wrong?”

Clarke’s eyes darted toward her friend and she opened her mouth, hesitating. Raven narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms.

“What is it Clarke?”

Clarke swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “I think my implant expired.”

It took a beat before Raven’s face registered what that meant. Her eyes widened.

“Wait. You think you’re—?”

Clarke nodded, biting her lip. “I haven’t had my period since before Floukru. And I didn’t even think about the implant. I was supposed to replace it last cycle.”

Raven sat back with a thud. “Oh my god.”

“I don’t even know for sure. I need to get checked—”

“You’re going to get checked now,” Raven interrupted, already on her feet. “Come on. We’re finding Nyko or I’m dragging you to the infirmary myself.”

Clarke stood slowly, heart racing. The thought of what this could mean made her legs unsteady beneath her. But she followed.

Because if it was true, nothing, absolutely nothing, was going to be the same.

—

Clarke and Raven made their way quickly through the stone halls, Raven practically dragging her by the arm.

“I still can’t believe you didn’t check your implant,” Raven muttered as they rounded a corner.

Clarke gave her a sheepish look. “We were busy. Everything was happening so fast, I forgot. And I haven’t exactly had a lot of time to think about it since.”

Raven stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “You two have unprotected sex and just go, ‘yeah, we’re good’? That’s it? No backup? No tracking?”

Clarke flushed. “It’s not like we planned it—”

Raven groaned and swatted Clarke lightly on the shoulder. “That’s exactly why you plan for it! God, you’re lucky you didn’t end up knocked up by a warlord queen.”

“I said I forgot,” Clarke hissed, brushing her hair behind her ear as they reached the infirmary. “Can we please not yell that in the middle of the hallway?”

Nyko looked up from his desk as they entered, his expression calm as always. “Clarke. Raven. Something wrong?”

Clarke gave him a tight smile. “I need you to perform a pregnancy test. I think my implant expired.”

Nyko raised a brow but didn’t question her. “Lie back. We’ll do it the old way. No blood draw needed.”

Clarke did as told, heart pounding in her chest as he moved around gathering herbs and tools, murmuring instructions softly. Raven hovered nearby, arms crossed and still looking vaguely exasperated.

Minutes later, Nyko returned and set a small bowl beside her. He gave her a faint nod. “You’re not pregnant.”

Clarke blinked. “You’re sure?”

Nyko nodded. “I’ve done this a hundred times. You’re clear. But you and Lexa should avoid any further… intimacy until your implant is replaced. You’ve already gotten lucky once.”

Clarke released a long breath, her body sinking back into the cot. “Thank God.”

Raven leaned against the edge of the table. “Told you it was dumb.”

“I know,” Clarke muttered, rubbing her eyes. “Believe me. I’m never letting it expire again.”

Nyko set aside his tools. “I’ll send for more implants from Arkadia, but until then, be careful.”

Clarke nodded. “We will.”

As they left the infirmary, Raven couldn’t resist one last jab. “Just think, your wedding could’ve come with a surprise baby announcement.”

Clarke shot her a look. “Not funny.”

“Not yet,” Raven smirked. “But it will be.”

“A pregnancy out of wedlock would be an absolute scandal in Skaikru,” Clarke muttered under her breath, more to herself than to Raven.

“It definitely would’ve made the history books,” Raven smirked, nudging her side.

Clarke rolled her eyes but didn’t get a chance to respond. The moment they turned the corner, she found herself face to face with Lexa.

The Commander stood in full formal wear, a leather-bound scroll in hand and her expression unreadable. Her sharp green eyes had clearly caught the tail end of their conversation.

Raven froze for a second before shooting Clarke a wide-eyed look and mouthing oops. “I’ll… give you two a moment,” she said quickly and turned on her heel, disappearing around the corner without a backward glance.

Lexa stepped forward, her gaze still fixed on Clarke. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Clarke swallowed hard. “I… uh. It’s not what it sounded like.”

Lexa arched a brow. “Are you pregnant?”

“No,” Clarke said quickly. “No. My implant expired while I was at Floukru. I didn’t realize until today that I missed my period.”

Lexa’s eyes softened slightly, but her voice remained steady. “And?”

“And… we did a test. It’s negative,” Clarke assured her. “Nyko said I’m not pregnant.”

Lexa nodded slowly, absorbing the information. “But it could’ve happened.”

Clarke nodded. “Yeah. It could’ve. And that’s on me. We were… distracted.”

Lexa let out a quiet breath. “So what now?”

Clarke stepped closer. “Now, we wait. Nyko’s requesting a new implant from Arkadia. Until then, we avoid anything intimate.”

Lexa’s lips twitched, just slightly. “A true test of will.”

Clarke let out a short laugh, brushing her hand down Lexa’s arm. “Think you’ll survive it?”

Lexa leaned in, her voice low and teasing. “Barely.”

Clarke smiled, but it faded into something gentler, more serious. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

Lexa cupped Clarke’s cheek. “Thank you for telling me at all. You didn’t have to.”

Clarke leaned into her hand. “I want to share everything with you. Especially the serious stuff.”

Lexa paused in the hallway just outside their chambers, her fingers brushing softly against Clarke’s stomach. The motion was gentle, almost reverent. Clarke tensed slightly and let out a nervous laugh.

“The test was negative, remember?” she said, eyes flicking up to meet Lexa’s.

Lexa smiled, her thumb still tracing slow circles through the fabric of Clarke’s dress. “I know. But one day… I can’t wait to see a little Clarke running through the halls.”

Clarke scoffed playfully. “Please. I want a mini Lexa. With those beautiful green eyes and chestnut curls, and probably more discipline than I’ve ever had.”

Lexa chuckled, but Clarke’s expression shifted. The lightness in her voice faded as she added, “But not until the conclave is gone. I can’t… I can’t risk bringing a child into this knowing what they might face.”

Lexa’s smile faded as well, her expression sobering. She nodded, her hand dropping to take Clarke’s. “I understand. Truly.”

Clarke squeezed her hand. “I mean it, Lexa. I want children with you. But not if there’s a chance they could be forced into that arena.”

“I would never allow that,” Lexa said quietly. “If anything were to happen, I would send you back to Skaikru. The baby would grow up in peace, far from politics and bloodshed. No one would know.”

Clarke stared at her for a long moment, heart full and aching. “You’ve thought about this.”

“Of course I have,” Lexa answered. “Because loving you means planning for the future, even if it’s one I might not be in.”

Clarke leaned in, pressing her forehead to Lexa’s. “We’ll make sure it never comes to that.”

Lexa nodded again, grounding herself in Clarke’s touch, in the fragile hope they’d built between battles and negotiations.

Chapter 18: Eighteen

Notes:

Hiii guys. Thank you so so so much for all the kind words you left under my note. Your understanding, patience and well wishes really meant a lot to me. Concussion is doing better, bruises are healing and I have a new car. I took a nice vacation for a week and now I am officially back. Expect a couple frequent updates as a thank you. This one gets a little spicy at the end, sorry not sorry.

The great hall pulsed with a quiet tension. The long stone table, lit by soft torchlight, reflected the weight of the moment. Lexa stood at the head, her posture tall despite the lingering ache in her side. Beside her sat Clarke, prepared and composed, with notes folded neatly before her.

Clarke’s heart beat faster as she scanned the faces of the Coalition. Titus sat rigidly, his hands clasped. Luna looked thoughtful, calm as ever. Echo’s gaze was sharp, watchful. Indra, Anya, and the other ambassadors waited in silence.

Lexa broke it. “We are gathered to discuss the future of our leadership. The Conclave has brought strength to our line for generations, but it has cost us countless lives. Children raised to lead are forced to kill one another before they can prove their wisdom. We must ask ourselves if this path truly serves us now.”

Clarke stood as Lexa sat. She cleared her throat and began. “We’ve gathered proposals. These are not perfect answers, but they are possibilities. Designed to end the cycle of loss and create stability.”

She paused, eyes sweeping the room before continuing. “The first option is clan endorsement. Each clan selects one Nightblood to represent them. These chosen individuals are tested through diplomacy, governance, and crisis leadership, not battle. The one who proves most capable would ascend.”

Echo leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “It sounds like a popularity contest. What happens when clans disagree on what leadership looks like? Or if a weak but charming candidate wins over the council?”

Anya added, “There’s merit in having each clan involved, but it would require strict rules. Standards.”

“We’d build those together,” Clarke replied. “Skaikru has done this through elected representation. It’s not perfect, but it works.”

Clarke moved to the next idea. “The second option is a point-based merit system. Training would remain rigorous, but Nightbloods earn scores in different categories: strategy, ethics, negotiation, combat, diplomacy. At the end of their training, the highest-scoring candidate becomes the new leader.”

Titus shook his head. “That depends too much on the judges. You think teachers won’t be influenced? You think scores can’t be manipulated for power?”

Luna, quiet until now, said gently, “But it also allows more than just brute strength to matter. Isn’t that worth exploring?”

Clarke nodded in thanks, then moved on. “The third is mentorship. The current Commander trains a single chosen successor. When the Commander passes or steps down, the successor takes over. It allows continuity. It protects the child. And it prevents senseless death.”

Echo raised an eyebrow. “You want the Commander to pick a favorite?”

Indra, who had remained quiet, finally spoke. “No method will be free of bias. But mentorship gives us a chance to pass knowledge—not just weapons.”

Clarke took a breath, then looked toward Lexa, who stood once more.

“There is one more idea,” Lexa said. “It is bold, but balanced. We call it the Triad of Ascension. Three Nightbloods, chosen for different strengths, would share leadership. One in war. One in diplomacy. One in governance.”

The room grew still.

Luna tilted her head. “Three leaders? Equal power?”

“Yes,” Lexa confirmed. “They would check each other. Support each other. If one falls, the others remain. If they disagree, they must deliberate and find unity. No single ruler. No single target. No child forced to kill their peers.”

Echo looked skeptical. “It sounds like it would slow decisions.”

Anya countered, “It might also prevent reckless ones.”

Titus spoke cautiously. “And if they’re divided?”

Lexa answered, “We build in measures for impasse. Advisors. Mediators. We create structure.”

Clarke added, “And we train them to work together from the start. This won’t be decided overnight. But if we start now, the next generation will lead differently.”

The room sat with it. Weighing tradition against transformation.

Finally, Luna gave a small nod. “It’s the only one that does not begin in blood.”

Lexa lifted her hand. “Let us vote. All in favor of the Triad of Ascension.”

Hands began to rise, one after another. Clarke held her breath.

Clarke let her shoulders drop, the tension in her spine loosening as she exchanged a brief glance with Lexa.

It wasn’t unanimous, but it was decisive.

Lexa looked over the room. “Then it’s decided. The Conclave is dissolved. The Triad will be implemented in its place.”

There were no cheers. No applause. Just quiet acknowledgement, as if the weight of centuries had shifted slightly off their shoulders.

The room slowly began to empty, ambassadors retreating to their own thoughts and messages they would carry home. Clarke remained at Lexa’s side.

“This is the right step,” Clarke said quietly.

Lexa didn’t smile, but her voice held a quiet conviction. “Let’s hope the next generation doesn’t have to spill blood to prove it.”

—

The air in Polis was brisk that morning, kissed with the cool breeze that carried the scent of early rain. The Tower courtyard, usually reserved for gatherings of war councils or state visits, had been transformed.

A great ceremonial circle had been drawn on the stone in white chalk and ash, its outer ring surrounded by the symbols of the thirteen clans. Garlands of woven herbs and early spring blooms hung from the balcony ledges, while the central platform had been polished to a silver sheen. It was rare for all the clan banners to fly in unison outside of war or treaty, but today they fluttered side by side in quiet harmony.

Clarke stood just behind Lexa, her hands clasped in front of her as the first notes of the horn sounded, calling the Coalition to attention. She wore deep forest green with gold threading at the cuffs and collar, echoing the tones of Lexa’s ceremonial robes. Though Lexa’s expression remained composed, Clarke noticed the subtle way her fingers tapped against her thigh. The Commander was feeling the weight of the moment.

The crowd began to gather. Council members, guards, clan leaders, and citizens of Polis filled the courtyard, their quiet murmurs filling the space. When the second horn sounded—lower, more resonant—the courtyard fell into respectful silence.

From the far edge of the circle, three young Nightbloods stepped forward.

Aden kom Trikru led them. Tall for his fourteen years, he moved with a calm self-assurance that quieted the crowd more effectively than the horns had. His ceremonial robe was dark brown with crimson accents, the tree-and-sun crest of Trikru sewn over his chest. He met Lexa’s gaze with steady eyes before taking his place near the center of the platform.

Renn kom Azgeda followed. Her raven black hair hair was tightly in symmetrical rows, and her pale robes were trimmed with dark fur. A deep scar traced the line of her jaw, an old wound from her earliest trials. Her eyes were unflinching, fixed on the dais. She nodded slightly to King Roan in the audience before taking her place beside Aden.

Finally came Thyra kom Delfikru, the youngest at just eleven. Though slighter in build, his steps were firm. His robes were dyed a vibrant sea-blue, and silver shells lined the hem. A pendant carved from driftwood hung around his neck, marking his place among Floukru. Despite his age, there was wisdom in his eyes as he joined the others at the center.

Lexa stepped forward.

“These three have been chosen not by blood alone, but by strength of character, clarity of mind, and the guidance of their people. Today, the Coalition moves toward a future not built on death, but on leadership, unity, and shared power.”

Titus approached with three silver bands etched with ancient runes. Lexa took them one by one and turned to face the Nightbloods.

“Aden kom Trikru. Renn kom Azgeda. Thyra kom Delfikru. Do you accept the burden of leadership?”

The three bowed their heads in turn.

“I do,” said Aden, voice calm.

“I do,” echoed Thyra.

“I do,” Renn added, steady despite her youth.

Lexa offered Aden the first band, placing it around his wrist. “You will lead in strength and justice, holding the memory of Trikru’s endurance.”

She moved to Renn, fastening the second. “You will lead with resolve and discipline, honoring the clarity of Azgeda’s law and order.”

Finally, she turned to Thyra. “You will lead with heart and balance, carrying the peace of the sea.”

As the ceremony concluded, each of the Nightbloods stepped forward to the edge of the platform. They bowed together to the gathered clans, and the crowd responded with thunderous applause, hands thudding against chests in respect.

Clarke reached for Lexa’s hand, squeezing gently.

As the crowd began to settle, applause echoing off the stone walls of the courtyard, Clarke leaned slightly closer to Lexa, keeping her voice low.

“Renn,” she murmured. “She’s the Azgeda Nightblood?”

Lexa glanced at Clarke briefly, then returned her gaze to the platform where the three Nightbloods stood. Her voice matched Clarke’s quiet tone. “She wasn’t the obvious choice. The other two in her class were older, stronger in combat. But she understands restraint. She questions before she strikes. That’s rare in Azgeda.”

Clarke watched Renn more closely now. The girl’s stance was solid, her chin lifted, but there was no arrogance in her expression, only focus.

“And the scarring on her face?”

“They consider it an honor,” Lexa replied. “To be scarred is to be proven. Renn’s were self-inflicted, part of her rite when she turned ten.”

Clarke’s brows lifted in disbelief. “Ten?”

“She volunteered,” Lexa said, her voice a little softer now. “Not because she was told to. Because she wanted to show she was more than what they saw. Small. Quiet. Weak.”

“She’s not just a symbol of Azgeda,” Lexa continued. “She’s proof that even the harshest traditions can change. That leadership doesn’t have to be shaped by pain alone.”

Clarke glanced at her wife, heart swelling at the weight of those words. Then she turned her eyes back to the girl with the scarred face and quiet resolve, standing tall beside Aden and Renn.

“I hope she proves you right.” 

—

Clarke stood at the edge of the training circle, the late morning sun casting long shadows across the worn stone. The clatter of wooden swords echoed around her as Lexa sparred in the center, her movements precise, fluid, and commanding. Her opponent was fast, landing blow after blow with agile steps and sharp timing.

Clarke’s eyes narrowed as she studied the girl, dark-haired, lean, intense. She looked barely older than fourteen. Her strikes were aggressive, but there was grace to the way she moved. Her focus was unshakable.

Clarke tilted her head, watching as Renn ducked a sweeping kick from Lexa and rolled back into a defensive stance. “She reminds me of Octavia.”

Titus followed her gaze. “Yes. Fierce. Stubborn. She pushes herself harder than the others. Never takes the easy path.”

Renn landed a hit to Lexa’s side and Lexa grunted, nodding in silent approval before the two reset.

Clarke folded her arms, impressed. “She’s good.”

“She’s more than good,” Titus replied. “If she stays focused, she could be one of the strongest of the Triad someday.”

Clarke watched Renn lift her sword again, chest rising and falling with deep breaths, determination etched into her features.

“She doesn’t just fight,” Clarke said.

“She’s been training since she could walk,” Titus replied. “Azgeda doesn’t wait for their warriors to grow into it. They mold them early.“

Clarke shifted her eyes back to the circle. Renn had just blocked one of Lexa’s strikes and pivoted around for a quick jab toward her side. Lexa caught it mid-motion and brought her arm around to sweep Renn’s legs out from under her.

Renn hit the ground hard, but rolled quickly to her feet, chest heaving, eyes burning with determination. Lexa offered a hand to help her up, and Renn took it without hesitation.

“She’s impressive,” Clarke admitted softly. “I didn’t expect Azgeda to endorse a girl so young.”

Titus glanced at her. “They wouldn’t have, under Queen Nia. But Roan sees the value of strength and reason combined. Renn’s ruthlessness is matched by discipline. And loyalty.”

Clarke nodded slowly. “Still. It’s hard to imagine someone like her leading one day.”

As Renn reset her stance and Lexa offered her a firm correction, Titus shifted his weight beside Clarke. He clasped his hands behind his back, eyes lingering on the sparring match before finally speaking.

“And how is the marriage faring?” he asked quietly.

Clarke turned, caught off guard. “Marriage?”

Titus didn’t look at her, but the edge in his voice sharpened. “You thought it would remain a secret in Polis? Anya has always been bold. Raven and Octavia have little interest in discretion. I suspected as much, but I confirmed it the moment I saw how Lexa looked at you after the fight.”

Clarke hesitated, then sighed. “We didn’t plan it that way. It happened fast, and with everything going on—”

“That’s exactly my concern,” Titus cut in, finally turning to face her. “It all happened fast.”

Clarke frowned. “You’re worried because we married?”

“I’m worried because Heda is changing everythin. Tradition, succession, diplomacy, and now she’s wed, in secret, to the thirteenth clan’s delegate,” he said. “This alliance was already fragile. Now there are whispers about favoritism. That her judgment is compromised.”

Clarke folded her arms, eyes narrowing slightly. “Her judgment isn’t compromised. She’s stronger than she’s ever been. You saw what she did—what she built with the Triad, what she survived.”

Titus sighed, the weight of decades in the coalition heavy on his shoulders. “Strength in battle doesn’t always mean strength in politics. You care for her. I believe that. But caring for her does not make you immune to the consequences of your presence here.”

Clarke looked back toward Lexa, who was now correcting Aden’s grip with a patience few commanders had ever shown. “We’re not asking for immunity. We’re just trying to do what’s right.”

Titus was silent for a beat, then added more softly, “You changed more than just the succession, Clarke. You’ve changed her.”

Clarke glanced at him, defensive at first—but his tone wasn’t accusatory. It was concerned. 

“She doesn’t see it,” Titus murmured, almost to himself. “But I do. She’s more open. Softer, at times. That may make her a better person. But it doesn’t always make a better commander.”

Clarke held his gaze. “Then we’ll make sure she doesn’t have to be both. That’s why we built the Triad. To share the weight.”

He nodded slowly, not fully convinced, but not dismissing her either. “Just don’t forget, peace is fragile. And so is she, underneath all of it. Make sure your presence doesn’t break what she’s worked so hard to hold together.”

Clarke didn’t flinch. “I won’t let her fall.”

Titus gave a faint nod before turning back to the training circle. 

—

The evening sun cast long amber streaks through the windows of their chambers, softening the stone and flickering gently across the walls. Lexa was seated at the low table, reviewing sealed letters stacked in neat piles. Her hair was down, her armor exchanged for a simple tunic, and the tension in her shoulders told Clarke she’d been reading the same line for far too long.

Clarke knocked lightly, then stepped in.

Lexa looked up, instantly alert until she saw who it was. “You’re back.”

Clarke crossed the room slowly. “Training’s wrapped. The nightbloods are doing well… Aden especially.”

Lexa gave a small nod, eyes studying her. “You’re tense.”

Clarke didn’t deny it. She sank onto the edge of the bed, fingers fiddling with the cuff of her sleeve. “I spoke with Titus.”

Lexa’s gaze sharpened. “What did he say?”

Clarke looked up at her, expression unreadable for a moment. “He knows. About us. The wedding.”

Lexa said nothing at first. She simply stood and walked over to her, the space between them closing as she sat beside Clarke. “I suspected as much.”

“He’s worried,” Clarke added quietly. “Not just about the Coalition or the Triad… but about you. He thinks I’ve changed you. That you’re softer now. And he doesn’t know if that’s good for a commander.”

Lexa reached for Clarke’s hand, her thumb brushing across her knuckles. “I have changed. You know that. I’ve let myself feel again, love again.”

Clarke blinked at the gentle admission.

 

“But that doesn’t mean I’m weak,” Lexa said firmly. “It means I have something worth fighting for. Something to protect.”

Clarke nodded, tension easing just a little. “I told him we built the Triad to share the weight. That I wouldn’t let you fall.”

Lexa leaned in then, her forehead resting lightly against Clarke’s. “And I won’t let the burden break you either.”

Their lips met, soft at first, slow and steady, a balm for all the quiet fears neither had voiced. But soon the kiss deepened, a pull between them growing stronger. Lexa’s hand slid to Clarke’s hip as Clarke’s fingers tangled in the front of her shirt, and for a moment, the world melted away.

But Clarke tensed slightly, pulling back with a breathless laugh. “Wait…”

Lexa stilled instantly, concern flickering in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Clarke looked sheepish, brushing her thumb against Lexa’s cheek. “Nothing. Just… the implant. It hasn’t had enough time yet. A couple more days and we’re in the clear.”

Lexa let out a low groan and fell back onto the bed, dragging a hand across her face. “This is torture.”

Clarke traced her fingers lightly over the hem of Lexa’s shirt, her eyes flicking up to meet hers. “I did say I’d take care of you another way…”

Lexa’s breath hitched, her body already attuned to the quiet intent in Clarke’s voice. “You don’t have to,” she murmured, though her tone lacked conviction.

“I want to,” Clarke said, her words soft but sure. “Let me.”

Lexa hesitated for only a heartbeat before nodding.

Her hands slid up Lexa’s thighs, feeling the muscles tense beneath her touch. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of Lexa’s sweatpants and tugged them down, freeing the length that had been straining against the fabric.

Lexa’s cock sprang free, already hard and leaking at the tip. Clarke licked her lips, her mouth watering at the sight. She wrapped her hand around the base, giving it a slow, deliberate stroke that made Lexa hiss through her teeth. Clarke looked up at her, her blue eyes locking with Lexa’s green ones as she leaned forward and took the tip into her mouth.

The taste of pre-cum burst on her tongue, salty and slightly bitter, and Clarke moaned softly around her. She swirled her tongue around the head, savoring the way Lexa’s hips jerked involuntarily. Her hands tightened on Clarke’s shoulders, fingers digging into her skin as Clarke took more of her into her mouth.

Clarke’s lips stretched around Lexa’s girth, her tongue pressing against the underside as she bobbed her head. She could feel every ridge and vein, every twitch and pulse as Lexa grew harder in her mouth. Her own arousal was building, a throbbing ache between her thighs that she ignored for now. This was about Lexa.

“Fuck, Clarke,” Lexa groaned, her voice strained as she tangled her fingers in Clarke’s hair. She didn’t push or pull, just held on as Clarke worked her magic. Clarke hummed in response, the vibration sending a shiver up Lexa’s spine. She took Lexa deeper, her throat relaxing to accommodate the length as she swallowed around her.

Lexa’s breathing grew ragged, her hips rocking gently into Clarke’s mouth. Clarke could feel the tension building in her lover’s body, the way her muscles tightened and trembled with each stroke of her tongue. She knew Lexa was close, and she doubled her efforts, sucking harder and faster until Lexa’s grip on her hair tightened and she came with a strangled cry.

Clarke swallowed every drop, her tongue lapping at Lexa’s sensitive tip until she was spent. Lexa slumped against the windowsill, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Clarke wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stood, a satisfied smile playing on her lips.

Clarke chuckled against her skin. “Still think I’m torturing you?”

Lexa turned to face her, brushing a curl from Clarke’s cheek. “I think you’re going to be the death of me.”

Lexa nodded, pulling her into a deep kiss that tasted of herself. Clarke melted into it, her body pressing against Lexa’s as their tongues tangled.

“Your turn,” Lexa murmured against her lips, her hands sliding down to cup Clarke’s ass.

Her fingers traced idle patterns along Clarke’s hip, her touch featherlight but deliberate. Clarke arched into it, her breath hitching as Lexa’s nails grazed just enough to make her shiver.

“ Someone’s eager,” Lexa murmured, her voice still rough.

“ Can you blame me?” She let her legs fall open slightly, just enough to tease. “You’re right here. And I remember exactly what you can do with that mouth.”

Lexa’s lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. She shifted down the bed, her hands sliding up Clarke’s thighs, pushing them wider as she settled between them. “ Then let me remind you.”

Clarke’s breath caught as Lexa’s fingers brushed through her folds, already slick with anticipation. Lexa hummed appreciatively before leaning in, her tongue flicking out in one teasing stroke, just enough to make Clarke gasp.

“Fuck—”

Lexa didn’t give her time to finish. She sealed her mouth over Clarke’s clit, sucking gently at first, then harder when Clarke’s hips jerked off the bed. Her tongue swirled in tight circles, each movement precise, each flick sending sparks racing up Clarke’s spine.

Clarke tangled her fingers in Lexa’s hair, tugging just enough to make her groan against her. The vibration sent another wave of pleasure through her, and she arched, pressing herself harder against Lexa’s mouth. “Right there. Don’t stop—”

Lexa didn’t. She licked deeper, dragging her tongue through Clarke’s wetness before slipping two fingers inside without warning. Clarke cried out, her thighs trembling as Lexa curled them just right, hitting that spot that made her see stars.

Lexa worked her relentlessly. Sucking, licking, fucking her with those fingers in a rhythm that had Clarke panting, her moans growing louder with every thrust. She could feel the tension coiling tighter, her body wound like a spring ready to snap-

And then Lexa pulled back.

Clarke nearly sobbed in frustration. “Don’t you dare-”

Lexa smirked up at her, her lips glistening. “Tell me how much you want it.”

Clarke whined, tightening her grip in Lexa’s hair. “ You know I will.”

Lexa waited, her fingers still buried inside Clarke but motionless now, just teasing.

Clarke exhaled sharply. “ Please .”

Lexa raised an eyebrow.

“ Please ,” Clarke repeated, her voice stronger.

Lexa’s eyes darkened with satisfaction before she dove back in, her tongue lapping at Clarke’s clit while her fingers pumped faster, harder.

Clarke came with a cry, her back bowing off the bed as pleasure crashed through her in waves. Lexa didn’t let up, drawing out every last shudder until Clarke finally collapsed back onto the sheets, boneless and spent.

Lexa crawled back up her body, pressing a kiss to Clarke’s parted lips. “ Good?”

Clarke could only laugh breathlessly, still trembling. “You’re evil.”

Lexa grinned against her mouth. “And you love it.”

Clarke pulled her closer, nipping at Lexa’s bottom lip. “ Maybe I do.” Her hands slid down Lexa’s sides, fingertips tracing the defined muscles of her abdomen.

The room was dim, lit only by the soft flicker of the hearth. Outside, Polis had quieted for the night, the usual bustle faded to a calm hush.

Lexa pressed a kiss to Clarke’s forehead. “Tired?”

“A little,” Clarke mumbled, already halfway there. “You’re warm.”

Lexa gave a small smile, shifting just enough to pull the blanket higher around them. “You always steal all the covers.”

“That’s because you run cold,” Clarke argued sleepily, though she made no move to let go.

Lexa hummed in agreement, burying her face into Clarke’s hair. “Then stay close.”

Eventually, Clarke’s breathing evened out. Lexa stayed awake just a little longer, eyes tracing the ceiling before they fluttered shut. Whatever came tomorrow. The warmth, this closeness, was what she’d hold onto.

Chapter 19: Nineteen

Notes:

Hi guys, be sure to pop back to Ch.18. It’s no longer an author’s note but a chapter ☺️

Here’s the official wedding, and things get a little spicy later on. Enjoy!!

The city of Polis was draped in emerald and ivory, the banners of the thirteen clans fluttering proudly against the breeze. The Tower had been transformed, its cold stone softened by woven florals and colored silks, and the air buzzed with the energy of a moment years in the making. The wedding of Heda and her Skaikru bride was not just a union of two people, but the formal joining of two worlds.

Clarke stood in front of a full-length mirror in her dressing chambers, her breath caught somewhere in her throat. Raven stood behind her, carefully adjusting the off-the-shoulder drape of her pale green silk gown. The material shimmered like river water, catching the gold light pouring through the windows.

“You look like a queen,” Raven said with a soft smirk. “Except, you know, hotter.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, but she was grateful for the lightness. Her hands were trembling. She wasn’t nervous about the commitment—no, that had been made long ago. It was the weight of this moment, the eyes of the entire Coalition, the pressure to represent both love and unity.

Octavia appeared in the doorway, dressed in Trikru finery. “It’s time.”

Clarke met her reflection one last time, steadied herself, and nodded.

Downstairs, in the open courtyard of the Tower, a ceremony platform had been constructed beneath a great arch of intertwined branches and climbing blooms. Green, white, and deep red, each representing a major clan. Guests filled the surrounding area, seated by their allegiances. The front row bore the most powerful: Luna of Floukru, Roan of Azgeda, Chancellor Kane, and Abby.

Lexa stood at the center of the platform, radiant in dark green formal robes embroidered with silver thread. Her ceremonial pauldrons were absent, replaced with elegant shoulder clasps that held her cloak in place. Her hair was braided back, bits of gold and obsidian glinting between each twist.

She turned as Clarke stepped out into the courtyard, and everything else disappeared.

The crowd fell silent. Music began softly. Flutes and drums, and Clarke moved forward slowly, her gown trailing behind her like water.

When she reached the platform, Lexa extended her hand. Clarke took it without hesitation.

“We gather to bear witness not only to a union of hearts, but to a pledge between leaders, between clans. This is not merely a wedding. This is a vow to the future of our people.”

She turned to Lexa. “If you have words of your own, now is the time to speak them.”

Lexa’s green eyes never left Clarke’s. She stepped forward, her voice low but resonant, meant only for Clarke yet heard by all.

“I swear fealty to you, Clarke kom Skaikru,” she said. “I vow to treat your needs as my own, and your people as my people.”

A hush fell over the courtyard. Clarke’s breath caught, her eyes glossy with emotion. She squeezed Lexa’s hand, then took a step forward to speak.

“And I vow to stand beside you,’always,” Clarke began, her voice soft but unwavering. “Not just as your partner, or as Skaikru’s ambassador, but as someone who sees you. All of you.”

Lexa’s expression softened, the stoicism cracking as Clarke went on.

“I know what you carry. The weight of your title. The expectations. The blood spilled in your name. And still, I choose you. Every day.”

She paused, the emotion catching in her throat before she steadied herself.

“I vow to build something better with you. To help guide this Coalition toward peace, even when peace feels impossible. I vow to love you, not in silence or secrecy, but in the light. Fully. Openly. Fiercely.”

Anya lifted a ceremonial cord woven of leather and silk. “Then by the traditions of the Coalition, and with the blessings of the thirteen clans, I bind you.”

She gently wrapped the cord around their joined hands. “As your fingers intertwine, so shall your paths. As your hearts beat, so shall your people endure.”

They leaned forward. Clarke pressed her lips to Lexa’s first, soft and slow. The courtyard erupted in cheers, applause, and a scattering of flower petals thrown by nearby children.

“With these vows, and in the presence of your people,” Anya declared, “your union is sealed.”

The cloth was tied, the bond made. And when Clarke and Lexa leaned in, it wasn’t the passion of desperation or fear that fueled their kiss—it was the calm, profound relief of two souls choosing one another freely. Fully. Forever.

—

Later, at the grand celebration in the Tower’s banquet hall, long tables were piled with food. Dishes from every clan: roasted sea fowl, tree nuts glazed in honey, thick root stews, salted meats, and baked fish wrapped in kelp. Wine and cider flowed freely, and a troupe of musicians filled the space with bright, lively rhythms.

Lexa and Clarke sat together at a raised table, laughing as they listened to Raven’s impromptu speech, which was mostly roasting Clarke.

“She used to say she’d never marry. And here we are. She fell for a warlord in eyeliner. Go figure.”

The crowd burst into laughter.

Anya, surprisingly, followed with her own toast. “Lexa has led us through blood and fire. Today, she stands not as a warrior, but as a partner. And that strength deserves honor.”

Dancing followed. Clarke pulled Lexa onto the floor, and for a moment, they were just two women lost in the joy of celebration. No titles, no duties. Just love.

As the night deepened, Clarke rested her head against Lexa’s shoulder, watching their people mingle together. Skaikru scientists chatted with Floukru healers. Azgeda nobles dined beside Trikru warriors. A new world, slowly taking shape.

“You alright?” Lexa asked.

Clarke turned her face toward her wife, eyes shining. “Better than alright.”

Lexa smiled, brushing a kiss against her temple. “Then let this be the first of many nights where our people feast instead of fight.”

Clarke nodded. “To unity.”

“To us.”

The courtyard was alive with movement, dancers spinning beneath lanterns, clan banners fluttering in the warm breeze, and the sound of laughter blending with music and clinking cups. Clarke had stayed by Lexa’s side through most of the ceremonial greetings, accepting gifts and warm congratulations. But as the formalities began to ease into celebration, she slipped away for a moment of air and maybe a familiar face.

She spotted Shay standing just beyond the crowd, near one of the long tables set with Floukru dishes. Her ocean-blue robe marked her clearly among the guests, but it was the calm expression on her face that made Clarke head her way.

“Shay!” Clarke called with a grin, weaving between guests.

Shay turned and immediately smiled. “Clarke! I was hoping I’d find you before the night ended.”

They hugged briefly, an easy, familiar gesture.

“I can’t believe you made the trip,” Clarke said as they stepped aside from the crowd.

“Of course I did,” Shay replied. “Luna wouldn’t have let me stay behind. Besides, I wasn’t going to miss your wedding.”

Clarke laughed. “It still feels weird to say that. ‘My wedding.’”

Shay gave her a playful nudge. “Well, you did look the part. The dress, the ceremony, you and Lexa looked like something out of a story.”

Clarke rolled her eyes fondly. “Let’s just hope the story doesn’t end in war.”

“It won’t,” Shay said. “You’ve done more to unite these clans than most who were born to it. Today proved that.”

Clarke’s expression softened. “Thanks. That means a lot, especially coming from you.”

Shay motioned toward the food. “Want to try some of the dried sea kelp rolls? I promise they’re better than they sound.”

Clarke laughed. “I’ll take your word for it.”

They stood together quietly for a moment, watching the celebration unfold.

“Do you miss it?” Shay asked, her tone casual. “Floukru. The quiet.”

Clarke exhaled slowly. “Sometimes. It was peaceful. Simple. But I also feel like this is where I’m supposed to be, even if it’s overwhelming half the time.”

Shay nodded. “You’ve always had that in you. The fight. The heart. Just remember to make time for the quiet too.”

“I’m trying,” Clarke said with a smile. “I really am.”

A cheer went up from across the courtyard. Someone had started a traditional Trikru dance and a crowd had gathered.

Clarke glanced over her shoulder. “I should get back before Lexa sends a guard after me.”

Shay grinned. “Wouldn’t put it past her.”

Clarke reached out, squeezing Shay’s hand. “Thanks for being here.”

“Always,” Shay said simply. “Go enjoy your night.”

Clarke nodded and turned, making her way back into the glow of the celebration, toward Lexa, toward their future. And with Shay’s quiet support still warming her chest, she felt more ready than ever to face it.

—

The chamber was dimly lit, the soft glow of candles casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. Clarke’s heart raced as Lexa closed the heavy wooden door behind them, the sound of the latch clicking into place sending a shiver down her spine. The wedding ceremony had been a blur of vows, cheers, and celebration, but now it was just the two of them. Lexa turned to her, her piercing green eyes locking onto Clarke’s with an intensity that made her breath catch.

“Finally,” Lexa murmured, her voice low and husky as she stepped closer. Her hands reached out, fingers brushing against Clarke’s waist, pulling her in until their bodies were pressed together. Clarke could feel the heat radiating from Lexa, the scent of her skin, earthy and intoxicating, filling her senses.

Lexa’s lips found hers in a searing kiss, hungry and possessive. Clarke moaned softly, her hands tangling in Lexa’s dark hair as she kissed her back with equal fervor. Lexa’s tongue slipped past her lips, exploring her mouth with a slow, deliberate rhythm that made Clarke’s knees weak. She could feel Lexa’s arousal pressing against her thigh, hard and insistent, and the thought of what was to come sent a jolt of desire straight to her core.

Lexa broke the kiss, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts as she trailed her lips down Clarke’s neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. “You’re mine now,” she whispered against her throat, her voice thick with need. “All mine.”

Clarke gasped as Lexa’s hands slid down to the laces of her dress, deftly undoing them until the fabric pooled at her feet. She stood there in nothing but her undergarments, her skin flushed and tingling under Lexa’s gaze. Lexa stepped back for a moment, her eyes raking over Clarke’s body with a look of pure hunger that made her shiver.

“You’re so beautiful,” Lexa breathed, her voice trembling with emotion. She reached out, her fingers tracing the curve of Clarke’s hip before sliding up to cup her breast through the thin fabric of her bra. Clarke arched into the touch, a soft whimper escaping her lips as Lexa’s thumb brushed over her nipple, teasing it to a hard peak.

Lexa’s hands moved to the clasp of Clarke’s bra, unhooking it with practiced ease and letting it fall to the floor. Her lips descended on Clarke’s breast, capturing the hardened nipple in her mouth and sucking gently. Clarke cried out, her fingers tightening in Lexa’s hair as waves of pleasure coursed through her body. Lexa’s tongue swirled around the sensitive bud, alternating between soft licks and firm sucks that left Clarke trembling.

Lexa’s hands slid down to Clarke’s panties, slipping beneath the fabric to cup her wetness. Clarke moaned loudly, her hips bucking against Lexa’s hand as she felt the heat of her arousal. Lexa’s fingers teased her entrance, sliding through her slick folds before pressing inside. Clarke gasped, her body clenching around Lexa’s fingers as they began to move in a slow, steady rhythm.

“Lexa,” Clarke whimpered, her voice breaking as pleasure built within her. Lexa’s lips returned to hers, swallowing her moans as her fingers worked her with expert precision. Clarke could feel herself getting closer to the edge, her body trembling with anticipation.

But then Lexa pulled away, leaving Clarke gasping and desperate. She looked up at Lexa with wide eyes, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Lexa smirked, her eyes dark with desire as she began to undress herself. Clarke watched, her mouth going dry as Lexa’s toned body was revealed inch by inch. Her cock sprang free, hard and throbbing, and Clarke couldn’t help but lick her lips at the sight.

Lexa stepped closer, her hands gripping Clarke’s hips as she guided her back toward the bed. Clarke’s legs hit the edge of the mattress, and she sat down, her eyes never leaving Lexa’s. Lexa knelt before her, spreading Clarke’s legs and leaning in to press a kiss to her inner thigh. Clarke shuddered, her hands gripping the sheets as Lexa’s lips moved higher, closer to where she needed her most.

When Lexa’s tongue finally touched her, Clarke let out a cry of pleasure, her head falling back as waves of ecstasy washed over her. Lexa’s tongue lapped at her folds, teasing and tasting every inch of her. She circled Clarke’s clit with slow, deliberate strokes, each one sending jolts of pleasure through her body. Clarke’s hips rocked against Lexa’s mouth, desperate for more.

Lexa’s hands gripped Clarke’s thighs, holding her in place as she continued to devour her. Clarke could feel herself getting closer and closer to the edge, her body tensing as pleasure coiled tightly within her. And then Lexa sucked her clit into her mouth, and Clarke came undone, crying out as waves of ecstasy crashed over her

Lexa didn’t stop, drawing out Clarke’s orgasm until she was trembling and spent. Only then did she pull away, a satisfied smile on her lips as she looked up at Clarke. “You taste so good,” she murmured, her voice thick with desire.

Clarke reached for her, pulling Lexa up onto the bed and into a deep kiss. She could taste herself on Lexa’s lips, and it only made her want more. Her hands roamed over Lexa’s body, exploring every inch of her as they kissed. When she finally wrapped her hand around Lexa’s cock, Lexa groaned into her mouth, her hips bucking into Clarke’s touch.

Clarke stroked her slowly at first, savoring the feel of Lexa’s hardness in her hand. But soon she picked up the pace, her hand moving faster and tighter as Lexa’s breathing grew more ragged. Lexa broke the kiss, her head falling back as she thrust into Clarke’s hand, moaning with pleasure.

“Clarke,” Lexa gasped, her voice trembling with need. “I need you.”

Clarke didn’t need to be told twice. She pushed Lexa onto her back, straddling her hips and positioning herself above Lexa’s cock. She lowered herself slowly, taking Lexa inside inch by inch until she was fully seated. Both women moaned in unison, the sensation of being joined together almost overwhelming.

Clarke began to move, rocking her hips in a slow, steady rhythm that had both of them gasping for breath. Lexa’s hands gripped Clarke’s hips, guiding her movements as they found a rhythm that drove them both wild. The room was filled with the sounds of their moans and the slick slide of their bodies coming together.

Clarke leaned forward, capturing Lexa’s lips in a passionate kiss as she continued to ride her. Their tongues tangled together as they moved in perfect harmony, each thrust bringing them closer to the edge. Clarke could feel the tension building within her again, her body tightening around Lexa as pleasure threatened to consume her.

Lexa’s hands moved to Clarke’s breasts, kneading and teasing them as she thrust up into her. “Come for me,” Lexa whispered against her lips, her voice rough with desire.

And Clarke did. Her body convulsed with pleasure as another orgasm ripped through her, leaving her trembling and gasping for breath. Lexa followed soon after, her hips stuttering as she spilled herself inside Clarke with a guttural moan.

They collapsed together in a tangled heap of limbs, their bodies still connected as they caught their breath. Clarke rested her head on Lexa’s chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart as they lay there in silence.

“I love you,” Clarke whispered, her voice barely audible.

Lexa pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I love you too,” she replied softly.

Chapter 20: Twenty

The idea was born from shared conversation. Two women from different worlds, both trained in the art of healing, discussing sea-bound remedies over a quiet meal in Floukru. Clarke, with her scientific background, and Shay, with her experience in natural medicine, found common ground in their desire to improve care across the Coalition. Months later, that conversation had grown into something more: the first ever Healer’s Summit in Coalition history.

It was Clarke’s proposal. Shay helped shape it. Lexa made it real.

The great hall had been transformed. The usual banners of war were replaced with symbols of peace: herbs tied in bundles, clean linens draped over tables, and clusters of drying flowers to scent the air. Long tables held surgical tools, bowls of herbal salves, and diagrams sketched on parchment. For once, there were no warriors in the room. Only healers, midwives, apothecaries, and clan physicians from all over the Coalition.

Clarke stood near the front of the room, watching the flow of attendees as they entered. The variety was striking, bone-setters from Trishanakru in leathers dyed rust red, Floukru midwives with necklaces made from sea glass, Azgeda healers with frost-kissed cloaks, their faces hardened but curious. Even a few of Skaikru’s medical staff had come down from Arkadia.

Clarke smiled to herself. This was bigger than she had dared hope.

Shay appeared at her side, looking a bit more composed than Clarke felt.

“They came,” Clarke said, not hiding the note of awe in her voice.

Shay nodded. “They did. Now let’s make it worth their time.”

Clarke stepped forward and lifted her voice to address the hall.

“Welcome, everyone. I know this isn’t a usual gathering. We are a people shaped by war, but healing is how we survive it. Today, and for the next three days, we share what we know. No clan borders, no guarded secrets, just knowledge, passed hand to hand.”

There was a pause. Then murmurs of approval.

The summit began.

Each healer had been invited to share a technique, a recipe, or a cautionary tale. Skaikru’s delegation demonstrated the use of sterile gloves and alcohol sterilization, earning both interest and skepticism. A Floukru midwife showed a technique for delivering breech births safely, using rope and body positioning. Azgeda’s lead apothecary, an older woman named Malin, explained how they treated frostbite with a heated compress of bear fat and pine bark. Clarke noted the detail down immediately.

Shay led a workshop on the use of dried fish skin to treat burn wounds. She brought samples and explained how its natural collagen sped recovery. Clarke assisted her during the demonstration, translating where needed for the Skaikru attendees.

Clarke made a point to circulate. She sat in on a session about nerve damage, another on identifying poisons from Reaper-affected lands. She listened more than she spoke, scribbling notes in a growing binder of shared knowledge. When Nyko presented a controversial Skaikru technique, suturing wounds with sterile thread, Clarke braced herself, but most of the room leaned in closer.

They wanted to learn. That was the greatest relief.

Later, over a simple communal meal, Clarke found herself seated beside Shay and Nyko.

“This should happen every year,” Shay said, tearing a piece of flatbread. “Even if half of them don’t use what they learn, the other half will. And that’s lives saved.”

Nyko agreed. “The clans see what Skaikru can offer when it isn’t about weapons.”

Clarke nodded. “This is how we change things. Not all at once. But step by step.”

The final session of the day was one Clarke had been hesitant to allow. A young Trikru healer named Nara presented an herbal sedative mixture. Nyko challenged her, arguing it was dangerous in higher doses. The discussion grew heated, but Shay stepped in, guiding them to a compromise: noting proper dosages, alternatives, and a list of warning signs. It was tense, but it was honest. And that mattered.

By the time the sun began to set, lanterns had been lit and the hall glowed warmly. Clarke stood once more and looked at the healers gathered before her.

“Today we shared things our clans once guarded. That was not weakness. It was strength. Tomorrow we keep going.”

There was no cheer. Just respectful nods, a ripple of agreement through tired, committed people.

—

Clarke entered their chambers just as the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long golden streaks across the stone floor. Her shoulders ached from the long day, her mind still buzzing from the final debrief of the summit, but a small, tired smile crept across her face as she stepped into the familiar quiet of their space.

Lexa was there.

She had returned earlier from a day trip to Sangedakru, an unexpected diplomatic call regarding a disputed border, and stood near the open balcony, peeling off the last layer of her riding gloves. Her travel cloak was draped over a nearby chair, her boots still dusty from the road. She turned at the sound of the door.

“You’re back,” Clarke said, voice soft and warm.

Lexa’s expression shifted instantly from composed leader to something far more tender.

“I am,” she said, crossing the room in just a few strides. She reached for Clarke’s hand and pulled her in, pressing a kiss to her temple. “And I heard about the summit.”

Clarke gave a small laugh, tucking herself comfortably into Lexa’s arms. “I’m surprised word beat me here.”

Lexa pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, her thumb brushing gently against Clarke’s cheek.

“Nyko found me the moment I dismounted,” she said. “He told me everything. The attendance, the exchanges, the debates. He said you held the room together with knowledge and patience.”

Clarke flushed lightly. “It was a group effort. Shay was incredible. Nyko, too.”

“And you,” Lexa said firmly. “You made this happen. You built something the clans didn’t even know they needed. I am proud of you, Clarke.”

The words caught Clarke off guard. There was something in Lexa’s voice, gentle, grounded, but rich with sincerity, that made Clarke’s throat tighten. She looked down briefly, suddenly overwhelmed with the weight of what they were building, not just politically but together.

“I just wanted to prove we can be more than conflict,” Clarke murmured.

Lexa tilted her chin up with a finger, meeting her eyes again.

“You did. You always do.”

They stood there for a moment in quiet, the world soft around them. Outside, the sky deepened into amber and violet, the hum of Polis winding down into evening.

Lexa leaned in, kissing her again, slow and soft, not heated but anchoring.

“Come,” she said at last, pulling her gently toward the bed. “You’ve earned rest. And I want to hear every detail.”

Clarke followed, grateful and more at peace than she had been in days. She would tell her everything, every lesson, every concern, every moment of promise.

—

The morning sun spilled through the wide windows of their chambers, casting a soft golden glow across the stone floor. The scent of spiced tea and warm bread lingered in the air as Clarke and Lexa sat together at their small breakfast table, plates between them half-full with sliced fruit, toasted graincakes, and jam made from Polis-grown berries.

Clarke was barefoot, hair still damp from a quick rinse, wearing one of Lexa’s loose robes that hung a little longer on her frame. Lexa, in contrast, had already begun preparing for the day ahead, dressed in her usual formal wear, though she allowed herself the rare indulgence of sitting for a full meal.

It had been peaceful, comfortable even, the way mornings were only recently beginning to feel.

But then Lexa cleared her throat softly and set down her tea, the shift in her demeanor unmistakable.

Clarke looked up immediately, fork paused mid-air. “What is it?”

Lexa hesitated for a moment, her fingers toying with the rim of her cup. “I arranged your visit to Boudalankru.”

Clarke blinked, then tilted her head with a small smile. “That’s great. I’ve been meaning to—wait. Arranged?”

Lexa nodded, her voice calm but purposeful. “You’ll leave at first light tomorrow. Your journey will take two days. You’ll stay five. I’ll meet you on the final day and we’ll return to Polis together.”

Clarke slowly set down her fork, brow furrowed. “So I’m going without you?”

“I thought it best,” Lexa said gently. “We talked about visiting each clan as part of your tour before the wedding. I want them to meet you, just you. Hear your voice. See your mind at work without me standing beside you as Commander. You’ve already made an impression with the Healing Summit. It’s time to build on that.”

Clarke let the words sink in. She understood the logic, more than that, she respected it, but part of her still felt the nerves of stepping into a new space alone, especially one as far as Boudalankru, nestled deep in the southern wetlands and long known for their skepticism toward outsiders.

“You really think it’s the right call?” she asked, studying her wife’s face.

Lexa’s eyes softened. “I do. They will listen to you, Clarke. And your presence alone will say what no letter or speech ever could. That Skaikru isn’t just a new clan in name. You are our bridge. Show them.”

Clarke exhaled slowly, nodding. “Alright. I’ll go.”

Lexa reached across the table, linking their fingers. 

Clarke was quiet for a moment, absorbing the weight of the responsibility. “So… who’s going with me?”

“Lincoln and Octavia,” Lexa replied. “They know the terrain well and they can handle themselves. You’ll be safe with them.”

Clarke nodded slowly. “Good. I trust them.”

Lexa’s gaze softened. “I wanted you to have familiar faces beside you.”

Clarke offered a faint smile. “You really thought this through.”

“I had to,” Lexa replied. “You’re stepping into a new role, and I want it to begin the right way.”

Clarke rose from her seat and walked around the table to Lexa, resting her hands on her shoulders. “You didn’t even give me time to overthink it.”

“That was the point,” Lexa said with a small smirk.

Clarke leaned in, their foreheads resting together. “You’ll meet me there?”

“I promise,” Lexa said. “We’ll celebrate your success with a proper bottle of wine when we’re back.”

Clarke laughed under her breath. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Lexa tilted her head slightly. “You’re ready for this.”

Clarke nodded. “I think I am.”

Clarke lingered by the window as Lexa packed away the last of the diplomatic scrolls she’d reviewed before breakfast.

She watched as Lexa moved with practiced precision, her every movement still radiating quiet strength, and couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips.

“Can I ask you something?” Clarke said, turning from the window.

Lexa looked up, brow slightly raised. “Of course.”

Clarke took a few steps closer, crossing her arms playfully over her chest. “Do you guys have anything like a honeymoon?”

Lexa tilted her head, clearly confused. “Honeymoon?”

Clarke bit back a grin. “Right. Guess that doesn’t translate. It’s a tradition in Skaikru. After two people get married, they go away together. Somewhere private. Peaceful. It’s meant to be a celebration, just for them. No duties, no politics. Just… alone time.”

Lexa’s eyes softened with curiosity. “Just the two of us?”

Clarke nodded, stepping close enough to tug gently on the front of Lexa’s tunic. “To be together. Completely. Without distractions.”

Lexa studied her a moment, then her lips curled into a small, amused smile. “And you’re asking if we can have one?”

Clarke leaned in, brushing her nose against Lexa’s. “More like I’m suggesting it. When I get back from Boudalankru, if you can step away from your responsibilities… maybe we go to Floukru. Just for a little while.”

Lexa’s smile deepened, her arms wrapping around Clarke’s waist. “You want to go to the ocean again?”

“I want to go anywhere with you,” Clarke murmured. “But yes. The ocean. The breeze. No council meetings or Titus hovering outside the door.”

Lexa gave a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss to Clarke’s forehead. “Then it’s settled. When you return, I’ll make arrangements.”

Clarke looked up at her, eyes bright. “Really?”

Lexa nodded. “You deserve peace. We both do.”

Chapter 21: Twenty One

Notes:

Woah!! Thank you guys so much for 500 kudos. Enjoy the chapter of Clarke exploring Boudalan, along with some backstory of how Skaikru came down to the ground.

The journey to Boudalankru took a day and a half by horseback. The forest gave way to rolling hills, and then to open marshland where the air grew cooler and mist clung to the water’s edge. It was nothing like the salt-heavy breeze of Floukru, but there was a stillness here, ancient and watchful. Clarke could hear it in the hush of the wind moving through reeds and the soft croaks of lake birds echoing across the water.

Clarke rode between Lincoln and Octavia, both alert but relaxed. The escort behind them was minimal, per Lexa’s instructions. This wasn’t a show of force, but a gesture of trust.

As they approached the village, Clarke saw structures rising from the shallows, elevated huts and wide wooden walkways built over the marsh, forming an intricate web across the water. Canoes and flat-bottomed boats glided gently between them. The scent of peat and wet earth was strong, and the distant call of someone singing floated over the reeds.

A tall woman stepped onto the wooden dock ahead, flanked by two guards with spears carved from dark wood and tipped with bone. She wore a robe of layered greens and blues, the fabric dyed from lake plants and fish scales that shimmered in the sunlight. Her hair was woven into a long braid wrapped with silver thread and shells.

She smiled warmly. “Clarke kom Skaikru,” she greeted, extending both hands. “Welcome to Boudalankru. I am Talya, ambassador of our people.”

Clarke dismounted, brushing dust from her skirt and stepping forward to clasp the woman’s hands. “Thank you. It’s an honor to be here.”

Talya inclined her head. “You’ll find our clan is quiet, but watchful. Your arrival is seen as a gesture of respect, and we will show you the same.”

Clarke offered a small smile. “That’s all I could ask for.”

They walked across the creaking wooden planks, the water beneath reflecting a sky that was beginning to shift toward evening. Octavia and Lincoln remained a few steps behind, keeping watch.

“We heard of your healing summit,” Talya said as they made their way toward the main lodge. “Shay of Floukru spoke well of you. The fact that you listen to our people, to the land, makes you different from most leaders.”

Clarke glanced sideways at her. “I’m not a leader. Not officially.”

“Not yet,” Talya said knowingly. “But you carry yourself like one.”

The lodge was built on stilts, surrounded by lily pads and thick vegetation. Inside, it was dim but peaceful, filled with woven mats and herbs hanging to dry. Talya led her to a space near the center where cushions were arranged around a low table.

“We eat here together,” Talya explained. “You’ll be staying in a guest hut nearby, but the evening meal is shared. It’s how we remain united.”

Clarke nodded, already taking mental notes. “Lexa mentioned that your people are experts in water purification and crop irrigation.”

“We are,” Talya confirmed. “Our methods are old, passed down since the first floods. We could teach you, if that’s your intention.”

“I was hoping to discuss trade,” Clarke admitted. “There are crops we can’t grow, medical resources we could exchange, and engineering knowledge from Skaikru we could offer in return.”

Talya didn’t answer right away. She watched Clarke, eyes calm and unreadable.

“You are here only 5 days,” she said eventually. “Tonight, you will eat. Tomorrow, you will listen. And your last day, we will talk.”

Clarke blinked, then gave a small smile. “Alright. I can do that.”

The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting golden streaks across the lake as the village came alive with soft music and flickering lanterns. Children’s laughter echoed from the docks and the scent of roasted fish and herbs filled the air.

Clarke sat beside Talya at the long table, surrounded by curious eyes and quiet smiles. She met them all with warmth, and for once, let herself simply be a guest, a student, a diplomat.

—

The morning mist still clung to the water when Clarke stepped out of her hut, the wooden planks damp beneath her boots. She took a moment to stretch, inhaling the earthy scent of marshland and lake lilies. The sun hadn’t yet crested fully above the horizon, and a pale glow touched the tops of the stilted homes. Somewhere in the distance, a low chant drifted over the water, rhythmic and calming.

Lincoln and Octavia stood at a respectful distance, chatting softly as Clarke approached. She nodded to them, grateful for their quiet presence. Talya had invited her to spend the day walking the village, learning the ways of Boudalankru from the people themselves rather than from a seat in council. Clarke had accepted immediately.

She met Talya at the edge of the floating gardens. Massive square beds of plants rooted in woven reeds and anchored by stones below. The floating plots were covered in vibrant greens: thick-stemmed vegetables, healing herbs, and bright flowering vines. The ambassador greeted Clarke with a simple nod and passed her off to an elder named Niva.

Niva was wiry, with deep laugh lines and hands calloused from decades of planting. She handed Clarke a thin spade and gestured toward a section of herbs with pale purple leaves.

“These need splitting,” Niva said. “We trade them with Trishanakru for bark root.”

Clarke crouched beside her, mimicking her movements as they worked. “What are they?”

“Floodmint,” Niva answered. “Helps with fever, especially in infants.”

Clarke’s hands moved carefully as she uprooted and separated the clustered roots, listening as Niva explained how their gardens rose and fell with the waterline, how they tied young shoots to driftwood to keep them from floating away. It was quiet, methodical work, but Clarke found comfort in the simplicity. In the morning light, she felt more grounded than she had in weeks.

Clarke stood at the edge of a broad wooden platform built over the water, watching as several children wove reeds into narrow mats with astonishing precision.

They sat cross-legged in a shaded area, chattering in soft Trigedasleng while their small hands worked quickly. A young girl, no older than six, looked up and spotted her. “Heda,” she said brightly, scrambling to her feet and bowing in an exaggerated, playful gesture.

Clarke chuckled, walking closer and kneeling beside them. “You don’t have to bow,” she said gently. “I’m Clarke.”

A slightly older boy, serious-faced with water-slick black hair, looked up. “You are Heda’s wife. That means you are important.”

“I suppose,” Clarke replied with a smile. “But right now I’m just curious.”

Another child handed her a half-woven mat. “We’re making fish traps,” he explained. “From the reedgrass by the shallow banks.”

“They’re for our parents,” added the first girl, her braid swinging as she leaned forward. “They’ll anchor the traps near the stone shelf.”

Clarke examined the weaving technique, noting how strong and tight the pattern was. “Do you all help like this every day?”

“Yes,” the boy answered. “After lessons and before the sun is too high. When we finish, we can go swim.”

“Swim?” Clarke raised a brow, looking toward the lake. They seemed young to be in there alone.

Several of them nodded. “We’re taught to swim as soon as we can walk,” one girl said proudly. “The lake feeds us, so we learn to respect it.”

Clarke was struck by the reverence in her tone, like how the Trikru revered the forest, or how Floukru worshipped the tides.

As the children worked, she asked them more questions. What they learned in school, how they celebrated births, what games they played when chores were done. One boy explained how they raced driftwood boats after the rainstorms, carving shapes into them for good luck. A girl showed her how to braid lake lilies into floating crowns.

One child asked if Clarke had children. She paused before shaking her head, a soft smile playing at her lips. “Not yet.”

“Will your children learn to swim here?” another asked.

Clarke laughed. “Maybe. If you promise not to let them sink.”

One brave boy tugged her sleeve and said, “Come. Now. Swim with us.”

Clarke looked at the eager group, their faces lit with excitement, then down at her boots and trousers.

“I think I’ll pass this time,” she said with a chuckle, holding up her hands as if surrendering. “But I promise, next time I visit. I’ll swim.”

The children let out a collective groan of disappointment, but their playful pouting didn’t last long. One girl crossed her arms and raised a brow. “At least dip your feet in. You can’t visit Boudalan and not touch the water.”

Clarke grinned. “Alright, that I can do.”

They guided her toward the shallow edge where the platform met the lake, the water lapping softly against the wood. She sat down and removed her boots and socks, rolling up her pants before lowering her feet into the cool, clear water.

A soft gasp escaped her lips. “That is colder than it looks.”

The children giggled, splashing nearby with ease. One of the girls waded in up to her knees and kicked gently, sending ripples across Clarke’s toes.

“It’s cold at first,” she said, “but it wakes you up.“

Clarke smiled as she leaned back on her hands, the breeze brushing against her face, the sounds of the children and the lake mingling in the air.

She watched as they splashed and played, some diving under, others floating lazily. A few of the older kids raced from one end of the shallow cove to the other, cheering each other on.

It was peaceful in a way that felt rare.

—

By midday, Clarke had traded her boots for sandals and was balancing along narrow wooden walkways between raised homes, guided by a young woman named Sina. Sina was one of the clan’s singers, a keeper of oral history. She brought Clarke to a circular gathering platform shaded by a canopy of willow branches, where elders told stories to the young. They invited Clarke to sit, and she did, cross-legged beside a wide-eyed boy who offered her a chunk of dried fruit from his pouch.

The stories were told slowly, in deep melodic Trigedasleng. Clarke followed most of it, her practice showing, and laughed along with the children at the funny parts. She caught the tale of a great heron who tricked a bear into dancing, and of a girl who turned into mist to escape her enemies.

Later, Talya found her again and led her through the village’s artisan lane. Here, women and men carved intricate wooden charms used in prayers, wove baskets from lake reeds, and dyed fabric in soft gradients using fish scales and flowers. Clarke marveled at a tapestry stitched in blue and green thread that depicted the founding of the clan. An enormous storm, a fleeing people, and the calm lake that welcomed them.

“They believe the lake chose them,” Talya said quietly beside her. “That it holds their ancestors. To pollute it is to curse your own bloodline.”

As the sun dipped lower and dinner approached, Clarke stood at the water’s edge alone for a moment, watching the ripples move outward from a canoe’s oar. A breeze rustled the reeds, and she thought of Lexa. Of Polis. Of what it meant to protect people.

She had come here as a diplomat. But today, she had simply been a guest. A student.

—

The sun had dipped low behind the canopy of towering lake trees by the time the fires were lit. Lanterns made from hollowed gourds and colorful glass floated above the long dining platforms, casting golden reflections across the still lake. The scent of grilled fish, citrus herbs, and roasted roots filled the air.

Clarke sat cross-legged at a long wooden table beside the ambassador, her place marked with a carved emblem of the thirteenth clan, Skaikru, freshly painted beside Boudalankru’s flowing sigil of a wave cradled by vines. Around her, families gathered, laughter bubbling between bites, and children darted between tables with sticky fingers and woven reed toys.

A plate was set in front of Clarke, steaming with unfamiliar but delicious-looking food. Small rolls of wrapped fish drizzled in green oil, purple root vegetables roasted over open flame, and a pale yellow mash that smelled faintly of lemon and pepper.

“This is silva,” the ambassador said, pointing to the roll. “Lake fish, cured and wrapped in algae leaves. We press it with herbs and salt for hours.”

Clarke picked up one of the rolls with her fingers and bit into it cautiously. The flavor burst across her tongue, salty and slightly sweet, with a bright finish of citrus and mint.

“Oh,” she said, eyes wide. “That’s really good.”

The ambassador laughed, clearly pleased. “I thought Skaikru only ate packaged meals and dried fruit.”

Clarke smirked. “Not entirely wrong. But we have real chefs now. Still, nothing like this.”

Next she tried the root vegetables, soft, earthy, with a smoky flavor that reminded her of her mother’s cooking on the Ark, only richer and infused with something like pine. The yellow mash surprised her most of all. It was creamy but carried a gentle kick of spice, warming her tongue slowly.

“This?” she asked, pointing her spoon at the mash.

“Lukra root,” said an older woman beside her. “Ground and mixed with fermented lake garlic.”

Clarke blinked. “I didn’t even know lake garlic was a thing.”

“Oh, it is,” the woman said proudly. “And you’ll dream in gold after eating it.”

Clarke chuckled, brushing her hair back behind her ear as more food was brought forward, soup served in scooped-out squash, a tart fruit jam spread on crisped flatbread, and a surprisingly sweet dessert made of honeyed grain shaped into orbs.

Between bites, Clarke listened as villagers spoke about the lake’s rising tide last winter, the harvest of water blossoms that fed their flocks, and the upcoming canoe festival to celebrate the rainy season. They asked her questions too, about Skaikru, life in the sky, how many stars she could see from the Ark.

Clarke answered as best she could, feeling the warmth of their curiosity and openness. This wasn’t a political meeting or a tense negotiation. It was something simpler, more human. Connection over food and fire.

A child brought her a carved wooden cup filled with chilled floral tea. Clarke thanked her and took a sip, it was light and subtly sweet, like wildflowers caught in morning dew.

She leaned back slightly, full and content, and looked around the glowing platform where dozens of people gathered, talking and laughing beneath the soft lantern light. For the first time since she’d arrived, Clarke felt truly at ease.

She smiled into her cup and whispered under her breath, “Lexa would’ve loved this.”

—

Clarke couldn’t sleep.

The bed inside her hut was comfortable enough, the blankets soft and the fire still warm in the hearth. But her mind refused to rest. It had been a long day, full of conversation and negotiation, of laughter with children and long talks with the people of Boudalankru. Her body was tired, but something deeper stirred in her. Restless. Uneasy.

 

She slipped from beneath the covers, pulling on a light shawl. Outside, the village was quiet. The lanterns that lined the paths had been extinguished for the night, but the moon cast enough light to guide her. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves in the trees and carried the scent of freshwater and pine. Somewhere nearby, an owl called into the darkness, its voice soft and rhythmic.

Clarke walked slowly, letting her feet carry her toward the lake.

When she reached the shoreline, she paused. The moon hung low over the water, massive and silver. Its reflection shimmered along the surface like a second sky. The stars were scattered above her in their familiar patterns, but from the ground, they felt closer. Brighter. More alive than they ever did from the sterile glass of the Ark.

She stepped onto a flat stone near the edge of the lake and sat, curling her knees to her chest. The earth was cool beneath her, and she felt the hum of stillness in the air. Her eyes drifted upward again, tracing constellations she’d known since she was a child.

Orion. Cassiopeia. The same stars she used to watch from space, but somehow different here. Back then, they had looked like unreachable points of light in an empty black sky. Now they felt like witnesses. Timeless. Watching over everything, just as they always had.

Clarke remembered being five years old when the Council on the Ark declared the end was near. Life support was failing. Oxygen was running low. Entire sections of the station were being sealed off, some permanently. People were dying, and the floating city in the sky was running out of time.

Her mother, Abby, had held her close as the alarms sounded, as the broadcast came through the speakers. The Ark would be brought down to the surface. That had always been the plan, but it felt more like a surrender than a choice. A last resort.

Some of the stations didn’t make it. Clarke still remembered the fire trails streaking across the sky, watching them burn from a small porthole window. One of those stations carried her best friend, Wells. He had been with his father, Chancellor Jaha. There was no saving them. No debris. No signal. Just flame.

Clarke blinked hard and stared down at the lake. The memories hit her harder here, in the quiet. In the peace.

They had landed near the border of Azgeda territory, and war had found them almost immediately. Spears raised. Guns fired. Blood spilled. Clarke had seen her first corpse the day they landed. She’d never forgotten the stillness of that boy’s face, only a few years older than her.

She dipped her bare feet into the lake. The water was cool and gentle, lapping against her skin with soft, rhythmic waves. It calmed something inside her. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.

Despite everything. The war, the loss, the fear. She was still here.

They were still here.

Lexa would arrive in a few days. Her heart warmed at the thought. She had missed her more than she was willing to admit aloud. Their time apart, though necessary, felt longer than it was. Clarke had come to Boudalankru to learn, to represent Skaikru, to keep building the bridges Lexa had begun. But the truth was, she just wanted to see her again. To feel her hand in hers. To fall asleep in her arms and wake up knowing there was still a future for them, no matter how fragile.

She looked back up at the sky. The stars did not judge. They simply existed.

She stayed there a long while, the water brushing her ankles and the stars wheeling slowly above. Eventually, when the chill began to settle into her bones, she stood. With one last look at the lake, she turned and made her way back to the village, back toward her temporary home and the promise of tomorrow.

Chapter 22: Twenty Two

Lexa dismounted slowly, boots hitting the earth with a soft thud as she surveyed the stretch of Boudalankru land before her. The air smelled like freshwater and pine, a cool breeze brushing over the open valley that sloped gently toward the lake. It was peaceful here, different from Polis, less guarded, less burdened by politics.

Talya, Boudalankru’s ambassador, greeted her with a deep bow just beyond the outpost gate. Her long brown hair was tied in a series of woven cords and beads that shimmered in the sunlight.

“Heda,” Talya said respectfully, rising with a kind smile. “You honor us with your presence.”

“I came to retrieve my wife,” Lexa replied evenly, though a hint of warmth broke through in her voice.

Talya grinned. “She’s had quite the visit. She’s spent time in the fishing villages, spoke with our elders, and made a few friends.”

Lexa raised an eyebrow. “Friends?”

Talya turned and gestured for her to follow. “Come. You’ll see.”

They walked in silence through the village, past open huts, drying herbs, and painted banners that flapped lazily in the wind. Children darted past, carrying pails of water and baskets of fruit. Lexa noticed how open and cheerful the people seemed, not careless, but content. It reminded her of the more isolated parts of Trikru, where tradition still flowed more easily than politics.

When they reached the edge of the lake, Lexa stopped.

There, knee-deep in the clear water, was Clarke.

She was laughing, surrounded by a group of children splashing wildly around her. Her braid was soaked and clung to the back of her neck, her sleeves rolled up and her cheeks flushed with sun. One child tossed a handful of water at her, and she retaliated by picking him up and dropping him gently back into the lake.

Lexa didn’t move, a rare, unguarded smile curving her lips. Her arms folded across her chest as she watched, quietly amused and completely captivated.

Clarke turned, as if sensing the shift in presence.

Her eyes found Lexa instantly.

A grin bloomed across her face, wide and bright.

The children followed Clarke’s gaze, then froze as they spotted the Commander. They quickly scrambled out of the water, shivering and giggling, but quickly dropping into polite bows once they reached the shore.

Lexa nodded to them, still watching Clarke.

Clarke approached, dripping wet but radiant. “You’re early.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

Clarke didn’t hesitate. She reached up, took Lexa’s face in her damp hands, and kissed her. It was slow and soft, the kind of kiss that made time stall. When they pulled back, Lexa’s hands slipped around Clarke’s waist, still mindful of the wet clothes.

Behind them, the children groaned in unison.

“Ew,” one muttered loudly. “They’re kissing.”

Clarke turned her head and stuck out her tongue. “You were just pretending to drown each other for fun. This is more mature.”

The kids scattered with laughter, leaving the two of them in peace. Lexa raised a brow.

“You were swimming.”

Clarke wiped water from her brow. “I didn’t have much of a choice. They dragged me in.”

“And you didn’t fight back?”

Clarke grinned. “I’ve been learning diplomacy.”

Lexa pressed another kiss to her temple, voice low and fond. “Come. Dry off. Then you can tell me about everything you’ve done while I’ve been drowning in council meetings.”

Clarke wrapped an arm around her waist. “Deal.”

—

Clarke stood at the edge of a long wooden dock, her hair damp from an early swim, her boots in hand. Lexa approached quietly from the path leading back to their hut, her arms crossed, a faint smile curving her lips as she caught sight of Clarke looking completely at peace.

“You’ve adapted quickly,” Lexa said, her voice smooth and warm.

Clarke turned, smile widening when she saw her wife. “Didn’t you say I’d like it here?”

Lexa stepped closer, brushing a damp strand of hair from Clarke’s cheek. “You were right. And it suits you.”

They kissed briefly before Clarke tucked her hair behind her ear. “Come on. I want to show you what I’ve been working on.”

They walked side by side through the village, Clarke nodding greetings to the people she’d spent the last few days getting to know. The Boudalankru were calm and open, deeply tied to the rhythm of the land and water. Clarke led Lexa to a shaded pavilion near the center of the village, where scrolls and notes were spread across a long wooden table. She had clearly made it her makeshift work station.

“These are the trade agreements,” Clarke said, gesturing for Lexa to sit beside her. “I’ve spoken with the village leaders, and after a few days of negotiating, we came to terms.”

Lexa leaned forward, listening intently as Clarke pointed to a marked scroll.

“For Polis and the broader Coalition, they’ve agreed to supply lake-grown crops and freshwater fish in exchange for medicinal herbs and fortified grains from Trikru and Delfikru. They’ve also expressed interest in establishing a seasonal trade route directly through the southern river crossing. Talya said it would cut travel time in half.”

Lexa traced the map lines on the parchment, clearly impressed. “That will make transporting supplies between inland villages much easier.”

Clarke nodded, her voice gaining momentum. “And for Skaikru, since we don’t have access to natural bodies of water like this, I worked out a deal for preserved fish and a kind of algae they use in medicine. In return, Skaikru will offer metal tools and portable solar tech. Just a few pieces to start, but enough to prove our worth.”

Lexa turned her gaze on her, brows raised. “You negotiated both separately?”

 

“I made sure the agreements were worded in a way that tied them to the Coalition, so it reinforces Skaikru’s role as the thirteenth clan. But yes, I handled both sides.” Clarke hesitated for a beat, then added with a quiet pride, “They respect me here. Not just as your wife. As a delegate.”

Lexa’s expression softened. She reached out, placing her hand gently over Clarke’s. “You’ve done well. These are smart, balanced terms.”

Clarke looked down at their hands. “It felt good. To be useful. To do something that didn’t involve war or survival.”

“You are always useful,” Lexa said. “But I know what you mean.”

They sat in silence for a moment, surrounded by birdsong and the distant splash of water. Clarke leaned her head on Lexa’s shoulder, letting herself exhale. The pressure of the past few days was lifting.

“I also promised them we’d come back,” Clarke said. “Together. They want to show us the deeper parts of the lake next time. Talya even mentioned a cave.”

Lexa smiled against her hair. “Then we’ll come back. As long as I get to see you try their lakeberry wine again.”

Clarke groaned. “That was one cup, and it was stronger than it looked.”

“You turned red halfway through dinner.”

Clarke laughed, swatting at her gently. “Don’t act like you weren’t impressed.”

“I was. Very.”

There was a pause, and then Lexa leaned closer, her lips brushing the edge of Clarke’s jaw. “Now that your work is done for the day… perhaps we retrieve back to our hut?”

Clarke turned toward her, a teasing light in her eyes. “Retrieve? Is that a command?”

Lexa’s grin deepened, one brow arching. “A suggestion. Strongly encouraged.”

Clarke laughed, the sound light and genuine. “And if I say no?”

“I’ll have to resort to convincing you,” Lexa replied, trailing a hand along Clarke’s waist. “Thoroughly.”

Clarke rolled her eyes affectionately, taking Lexa’s hand. “Come on then, Heda. Let’s go before the stars fade.”

The humid air clung to Clarke’s skin as she stepped into the lake hut, the faint scent of pine and water lingering in the room. Her boots thudded softly against the wooden floor, and she let out a long breath, dropping her pack by the door. Days of navigating the dense forests and negotiating with Boudalankru had left her exhausted, but the moment her eyes landed on Lexa, standing by the window with the lake’s golden light framing her silhouette, all weariness melted away.

She crossed the room in three quick strides, her hands finding Lexa’s face, her lips crashing into hers with a hunger that had been building for days. Lexa’s breath caught, just for a moment, before she responded in kind, her hands sliding up Clarke’s arms, fingers digging into her shoulders as if she were afraid Clarke might vanish.

Their kiss deepened, tongues clashing, heat rising between them. Clarke’s fingers tangled in Lexa’s hair, tugging gently, and Lexa groaned softly against her lips. When they finally broke apart, both were breathless, their foreheads resting together.

“I missed you,” Clarke whispered, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

Lexa’s hands moved to Clarke’s waist, pulling her closer. “And I you,” she murmured, her lips brushing Clarke’s cheekbone. “Every moment apart was torture.”

Clarke’s hands slid down Lexa’s neck, over her collarbone, and began unbuttoning her shirt. Lexa didn’t stop her, her own hands moving to Clarke’s belt, their movements hurried but not clumsy. The need to feel each other, skin to skin, was overwhelming.

Lexa’s shirt fell to the floor, revealing the smooth planes of her chest, the faint scars that marked her as a warrior, and the lean muscle that made Clarke’s breath hitch. Clarke’s fingers traced the lines of her torso, her touch electric, and Lexa shivered, her nipples hardening under Clarke’s gaze.

Clarke leaned in, her lips brushing over Lexa’s collarbone, her teeth grazing the skin just enough to make Lexa’s breath tremble. “Clarke,” Lexa murmured, her hands tightening on Clarke’s hips.

Clarke didn’t stop. Her hands moved to Lexa’s pants, quickly undoing the buckle and sliding them down her legs. Lexa stepped out of them, kicking them aside, and now there was nothing between them but the thin fabric of Clarke’s underwear and the weight of their desire.

Clarke’s hands moved to her own shirt, but Lexa stopped her, her grip firm but gentle. “Let me,” she said, her voice dark with intent.

Clarke nodded, her heart pounding as Lexa’s fingers worked the buttons of her shirt, revealing inch by inch of her skin. The cool air hit her chest, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Lexa’s gaze. Lexa’s hands traced the curves of Clarke’s breasts, her thumbs brushing over Clarke’s nipples, making her gasp.

Lexa’s lips followed her hands, her mouth closing over Clarke’s nipple, her tongue flicking the sensitive peak. Clarke’s knees nearly buckled, a low moan escaping her lips as she threaded her fingers through Lexa’s hair, holding her close.

“Lexa,” she breathed, her voice trembling.

Lexa didn’t respond with words. Her hands moved to Clarke’s pants, sliding them down her hips, and Clarke stepped out of them, kicking them aside. Now, there was nothing between them, nothing to hide the ache that had been building for days.

Lexa’s hands slid up Clarke’s thighs, her fingers brushing against the wetness that had already gathered there. Clarke gasped, her hips arching into Lexa’s touch, and Lexa’s lips curved into a small, satisfied smile.

Clarke’s breath caught, her hands clutching at Lexa’s shoulders as Lexa’s fingers dipped lower, parting her folds. The first touch was light, teasing, and Clarke whimpered, her hips rocking forward, seeking more.

But Lexa didn’t give her more. Not yet. Her fingers traced Clarke’s entrance, circling but not entering, and Clarke’s nails dug into Lexa’s skin, a low growl escaping her lips.

“Lexa,” she warned, her voice tight with need.

Lexa’s eyes met hers, dark and hungry. “Patience, Clarke,” she murmured, her fingers still teasing.

Clarke groaned in frustration, her hips bucking against Lexa’s hand. But Lexa held her steady, her fingers moving in slow, maddening circles until Clarke was trembling with need.

Finally, Lexa relented, her fingers sliding inside Clarke, filling her in one smooth stroke. Clarke cried out, her head falling back, her body arching into Lexa’s touch.

Lexa’s other hand moved to Clarke’s hip, holding her steady as her fingers began to move, thrusting in and out with a rhythm that had Clarke gasping, her hips rocking in time with Lexa’s movements.

“That’s it,” Lexa murmured, her lips brushing Clarke’s ear. “Let me feel you.”

Clarke’s hands clutched at Lexa’s shoulders, her nails digging into her skin as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside her. Lexa’s fingers curled inside her, hitting that spot that made her see stars, and Clarke’s breath came in short, sharp gasps.

“Lexa, I— I’m—”

“I know,” Lexa murmured, her lips brushing Clarke’s neck. “I’ve got you.”

And then it was too much, the tension inside Clarke snapping, her body shuddering as pleasure washed over her in waves. Lexa held her through it, her fingers still moving, drawing out every last shudder, every last gasp.

When Clarke finally came down, her legs shaking, Lexa pulled her into her arms, holding her close. Clarke rested her forehead against Lexa’s shoulder, her breath slowly returning to normal.

“You’re incredible,” she murmured, her voice still trembling.

Lexa’s lips curved into a small smile. “So are you,” she murmured.

But Clarke wasn’t done. Her hands moved to Lexa’s hips, pulling her closer, and Lexa’s breath caught as Clarke’s fingers brushed against her erection.

“How long have you been waiting for me?” Clarke murmured, her voice low and teasing.

Lexa’s breath trembled, her hips arching into Clarke’s touch. “Too long,” she admitted.

Clarke’s fingers wrapped around Lexa’s length, her thumb brushing over the tip, and Lexa’s breath hitched, her hips bucking into Clarke’s hand.

“Then let me take care of you,” Clarke murmured, her hand moving in slow, deliberate strokes.

Lexa’s hands clutched at Clarke’s shoulders, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as Clarke’s hand moved faster, her thumb brushing over the sensitive tip with every stroke.

“Clarke,” Lexa gasped, her hips rocking into Clarke’s touch.

Clarke leaned in, her lips brushing Lexa’s ear. “Let me hear you,” she murmured.

Lexa’s breath trembled, her hips bucking faster as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside her. Clarke’s hand moved faster, her thumb brushing over the tip with every stroke, and Lexa’s breath came in short, sharp gasps.

“Clarke, I’m—”

“I know,” Clarke murmured, her hand slowing down eliciting a wine from her wife. 

Pushing Lexa down onto the bed, she climbs on top, straddling her. 

She shifted her weight, sinking down onto Lexa’s length, her breath hitching as she felt Lexa fill her completely. Lexa’s hands gripped her hips, steadying her as Clarke began to move, her rhythm slow and deliberate at first, savoring the sensation.

Lexa let out a low groan, her hips lifting to meet Clarke’s movements. “I missed how you felt around me,” she breathed, her hands sliding up Clarke’s sides, her fingers brushing against her breasts.

Clarke’s breath came in short, sharp gasps as she increased her pace, her body trembling with pleasure. She leaned forward, her hands resting on Lexa’s chest as she rocked against her, her movements growing more desperate, more urgent.

Lexa’s hands moved to her hips, guiding her as Clarke rode her, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Don’t stop,” Lexa murmured, her voice trembling with need.

Clarke couldn’t have stopped even if she wanted to. Her body was consumed by the sensation, every nerve ending alive with pleasure. She felt Lexa’s hands tighten on her hips, her thrusts growing more forceful as Clarke’s movements became faster, more frantic.

Lexa’s breath hitched, her body tensing as she felt the pressure building inside her. “Clarke,” she gasped, her voice trembling with need.

Clarke leaned down, her lips brushing Lexa’s ear as she whispered, “Come for me.”

And Lexa did, her body shuddering as pleasure washed over her, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Clarke held her through it, her hands gripping Lexa’s hips as she continued to move, her own climax building, threatening to overtake her.

When Lexa finally came down, her breath slowly returning to normal, Clarke leaned down, her lips brushing Lexa’s neck.

Clarke lay tangled beside Lexa, the soft linens drawn loosely around them, skin still flushed and glowing from their time together. Lexa’s arm rested around Clarke’s back, fingers trailing idle circles there, while Clarke’s head found its place in the curve of her shoulder.

“You were amazing with them,” Lexa murmured, her voice low and full of fondness. “The children. They adored you.”

Clarke gave a soft hum of acknowledgment, her fingers tracing absent shapes along Lexa’s collarbone. “They reminded me of what we fight for. What peace could really look like.”

Lexa tilted her head slightly, pressing a kiss to Clarke’s hair. “You’d make a wonderful mother.”

Clarke’s hand paused mid-trace. She was quiet for a moment before she spoke. “I want that,” she admitted. “One day.”

Lexa didn’t move, didn’t push. She waited.

Clarke exhaled. “Just… not yet. Not while things are still shifting. I want to wait until it feels like we can breathe. Until it feels real. Safe.”

Lexa nodded gently against her. “When the time comes, it will be your choice. Ours. Together.”

Chapter 23: Twenty Three

The council room was quiet, save for the soft rustling of parchment and the low scrape of chairs as the ambassadors of several clans settled into place. Maps and scrolls were spread across the long stone table, marked with the names of trade posts and supply routes, evidence of Clarke’s recent diplomatic success in Boudalankru.

Lexa stood at the head of the table, her hands braced on the surface as she surveyed the documents before her. Her green eyes scanned the names, the terms, the new alliances her wife had cultivated.

“She brokered food stores from the southern lakes,” Indra said, tapping a sealed scroll near the center of the map. “In exchange for Trikru’s forging tools and medicinal roots. The Boudalan ambassador said she also opened talks about sharing their irrigation techniques with both us and Skaikru.”

Lexa nodded, but her expression remained unreadable.

“She adapts quickly,” she said after a beat, voice low with something close to admiration.

Titus, standing to her left, gave a rare nod. “She does. She has a keen mind. Like her mother.”

Lexa turned toward him slightly. “You do not sound entirely at ease.”

Titus clasped his hands in front of him, brows furrowed. “I am not opposed to what she has accomplished. The deals are sound. Her demeanor has calmed even the most volatile clans. She brings order.”

“But,” Lexa said sharply, sensing it. “There is always a ‘but’ with you.”

He did not deny it.

“My concern has never been her skill or her intentions,” Titus replied, carefully. “It is what her presence represents. Her influence. Her hold on you.”

Lexa’s gaze hardened.

“She is not a weakness,” she said.

“No,” Titus admitted. “But she is a target. So long as she stands beside you, enemies will find new ways to test your limits. You know this.”

Lexa’s voice cooled. “As they did with Costia.”

Titus hesitated, but nodded once.

“She was taken because she mattered to you. Clarke matters more. And the Coalition sees that. So do your enemies.”

Lexa took a slow breath, her jaw clenched.

“I know the cost, Titus. But I will not govern in fear.”

Titus looked away for a moment, then back again.

“My fear is not only for you,” he said quietly. “It is for the Coalition. Clarke is Skaikru. And Skaikru, for all their alliances, is still foreign to most. The old clans barely tolerate one another. Now they are being asked to accept a thirteenth leader whose ways are unfamiliar, whose influence is growing. There are already whispers that she pulls too many of your decisions.”

“She offers counsel,” Lexa answered. “I make the decisions.”

“That distinction does not matter to those looking for a reason to rebel,” Titus said. “You gave her your loyalty. Your name. Your trust. And now they watch to see what else you’ll give.”

Lexa narrowed her eyes. “So what would you have me do? Cast her aside to preserve appearances? Marry a Trikru noblewoman? Produce an heir to solidify tradition?”

 

Titus was silent.

Lexa stepped closer. “If Clarke and I succeed in creating something better than what came before, then let them talk. Let them doubt. I would rather risk the wrath of tradition than lose the one person who reminds me what peace could look like.”

Titus searched her face, and for once, his voice softened.

“I believe she loves you. I believe she wants what is best for your people. But I also believe that if anything happens to her, if she is used against you, the fallout will not be as simple as grief. It could undo everything you’ve built.”

Lexa turned away, her eyes settling back on the map. She touched the inked lines gently, her voice quiet.

“Then we protect her.”

Titus gave a small nod, then stepped back.

“You have changed, Heda. I only pray it is not the kind of change history punishes.”

Lexa didn’t answer. She stood in the glow of the firelight, her thoughts drifting not to rebellion, not to war, but to Clarke’s hands guiding these agreements, her voice among foreign clans, her laughter echoing in a place that once felt like only stone and silence.

—

The fire in Lexa’s council chamber had burned low, casting a soft orange glow across the stone walls. Scrolls lay unrolled on the long table between her and Anya, maps marked in faded ink and lined with notations in both Trigedasleng and English. The room was quiet save for the crackle of the fire and the slow, methodical movement of Anya’s fingers tapping the arm of her chair.

Lexa stood with her arms folded, her posture rigid but thoughtful.

“She’s stabilized more than just our borders,” Lexa said, glancing toward the center map where Clarke’s trade routes from Boudalankru were carefully drawn. “Her efforts with the lake clans created channels even Trikru couldn’t maintain in times of peace.”

Anya leaned forward, elbows resting on the edge of the table. “I know. That’s what worries Titus.”

Lexa gave a faint, dry smile. “Titus worries when the wind shifts too quickly.”

Anya shrugged. “He’s not entirely wrong. What Clarke’s done is impressive. But the pace of change… it makes some nervous.”

Lexa didn’t respond immediately. Her gaze drifted briefly toward the far window. Polis was quiet tonight. Peaceful, at least on the surface.

Clarke had left for Skaikru two days earlier, visiting her mother with Raven and Octavia accompanying her for the journey. It had been planned, approved, even necessary. But the empty spot beside Lexa these past mornings had felt sharper than she expected. There was an unfamiliar silence when she woke. And the council chamber, though never quiet in discussion, lacked the spark Clarke brought with her observations and challenges.

“She’s not here to defend herself,” Anya added, “and that’s the problem. Every choice you make in her absence will be scrutinized. Her presence tempers you in their eyes. Without her, you seem more… unchecked.”

Lexa exhaled. “So even my own strength is now seen as a threat if Clarke isn’t nearby?”

“It’s not your strength they question. It’s your direction. Clarke has become your compass.”

Lexa looked down at the map again. Her fingers rested over a small symbol Clarke had drawn, a circular sun representing Floukru’s.

“She is a guide, yes,” Lexa admitted quietly. “But I have not forgotten how to lead.”

Anya studied her for a moment before nodding.

“No one questions your ability to lead, Lexa. But even the strongest must adapt to new shadows. Especially the ones cast by love.”

Lexa’s jaw tightened slightly, but there was no rebuke.

“We are stronger together,” she said at last.

Anya rose from her seat. “Then make sure everyone sees it when she returns.”

Lexa gave a short nod. The firelight danced across the edge of the maps, casting flickers over Clarke’s hand-drawn notes.

She would wait. Just a few more days.

—

The moonlight slipped through the open windows of the tower chamber, casting pale beams across the bed where Lexa sat, undoing the ties of her armor. She had returned late from a council session and now sought only rest. The quiet of Polis was a comfort tonight. No urgent scrolls, no reports from the outposts. Just stillness.

She had just begun unwrapping the leather around her wrists when a burst of static broke the silence.

The small black radio on her bedside table crackled to life.

Lexa stilled. Then she stood, crossing the room in three long strides to snatch it up. Her hand tightened around the device as she brought it to her ear, heart already rising in anticipation.

Another brief hiss of static. Then Clarke’s voice.

“Lexa? Are you awake?”

Lexa’s features softened. She pressed the transmit button immediately.

“I am now,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm despite the quiet relief washing over her. “Are you alright?”

There was a pause. Then Clarke’s voice again, a little tentative this time. “I wanted to ask you something. Before I bring it to the others.”

Lexa straightened, already sensing what was coming. “What is it?”

Another pause, longer this time.

“Roan’s asked me to visit Azgeda while I’m here,” Clarke said finally. “To speak to his council. About peace. Trade. Trust.”

Lexa’s reaction was swift, almost instinctual. “No.”

She could hear Clarke exhale faintly.

“Not without me,” Lexa added, sharper now. “Clarke, that is not a risk you take alone.”

“I won’t be alone,” Clarke said gently. “Bellamy and Octavia are still with me. And Roan isn’t his mother.”

“That doesn’t mean his court feels the same. Azgeda holds grudges like weapons. They don’t see you as one of them.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Clarke’s voice, quiet but steady. “I know you’re scared. Because of Costia.”

Lexa flinched slightly at the name, her grip on the radio tightening.

“But this is different,” Clarke continued. “Roan respects me. He knows peace with Skaikru and with the Coalition means a future for his people. He’s trying to change what Azgeda is. And if I can help him do that, I have to.”

Lexa paced slowly across the stone floor, her bare feet soundless. The fire had burned low in the hearth, but the heat of Clarke’s words filled the room now.

“You don’t know how quickly they could turn,” Lexa said. “And if something were to happen to you—”

Clarke cut her off gently. “That fear, Lexa… it can’t make us stop trying.”

Her voice dropped, softer now. “If we can make peace with Azgeda, really make it, the other clans will see that Skaikru belongs. That I belong.”

Lexa’s eyes closed for a moment. The weight of leadership pressed against her ribs, but the weight of loving Clarke was heavier. Not worse. Just fuller.

“And I’ll be back before you know it,” Clarke added.

Lexa sighed through her nose. “You’re far too stubborn.”

“I learned from the best,” Clarke murmured, and Lexa could hear her smile.

Lexa hesitated, her silence saying more than her words could. Finally, she spoke, voice quiet and tired but full of care.

“You’ll keep your guard close?”

“I will.”

“And check in every night.”

“I promise.”

Lexa relented with a nod Clarke couldn’t see, her voice just a whisper. “Then go. But come back to me.”

Clarke’s voice warmed. “Always.”

The radio fell quiet again, save for the low hum of static.

Lexa set it down gently on the table beside her, then moved to the bed. She lay back slowly, staring at the ceiling. Sleep would be harder tonight. 

Chapter 24: Twenty Four

The wind was bitter as Clarke stepped down from the rover, the icy air of Azgeda cutting through even her thick cloak. Snow clung to the stone steps leading into the stronghold, and she could already feel the chill seeping into her boots. Octavia was the first to move beside her, ever alert, while Bellamy stepped out from the other side and gave a short nod to the guards who approached.

Roan was waiting just inside the entryway of the keep, cloaked in deep gray furs, his breath visible as he stepped forward. Beside him stood a girl Clarke recognized. Renn, the Azgeda nightblood with sharp eyes and a long scar across her cheek. The girl gave her a nod of respect, quiet but observant.

“Clarke kom Skaikru,” Roan greeted with a slight smile. “Welcome to Azgeda. I hope the journey wasn’t too rough.”

Clarke nodded, pulling her gloves tighter. “It was fine. Just cold.”

Roan chuckled, then gestured for them to follow. “You’ll get used to it. Come, I’ll show you to your quarters. Dinner will be in a few hours, and there are a few things we should go over before then.”

As they walked through the corridors of ice-gray stone, Roan explained the expectations of her visit. Meetings with key advisors. A tour of their forges and mines. Trade discussions with Azgeda’s ambassador. Renn said little, but she kept pace beside them, occasionally glancing at Clarke with curiosity.

“The people will be watching,” Roan continued. “You’re the first Skaikru representative to be welcomed formally here. There will be pressure, but I’ll do what I can to ensure things go smoothly.”

Clarke listened carefully, nodding in understanding. But as they turned a corner, something tugged at the edge of her awareness.

A man passed them in the hall, tall and broad-shouldered with a thick coat pulled around him and a long scar curving over his temple. He did not make eye contact, only gave Roan a shallow nod of acknowledgment before continuing down the passage.

Clarke’s feet stopped moving.

It took her a second, maybe two. Her breath caught as her mind tried to place him. The face. The gait. That scar. It hit her like a punch to the chest.

She remembered the face from a distance, distorted by the chaos and smoke of a Skaikru outpost negotiation gone wrong. Years ago. Her father had been there, negotiating peace. He never came home.

And this man, this soldier with the hollow eyes and cold expression, had been there too. Not a bystander. Not innocent.

He was the one.

The hallway felt colder suddenly. She blinked, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

“Clarke?” Octavia had noticed she had stopped. “You good?”

Clarke nodded once, slowly, but her eyes stayed fixed on the hallway the man had disappeared down. Her chest tightened. The edges of her vision blurred with a rush of memory. Her father’s voice. The explosion. The silence that followed.

She didn’t say anything, not yet. Not here.

“Yeah,” she managed. “Let’s keep going.”

Once dinner plans were confirmed and the last of the formalities addressed, Roan excused himself with a final nod to Clarke. Renn lingered, offering a small, polite smile before motioning for Clarke and her group to follow her deeper into the castle.

The halls were dim, lit by sconces that flickered against cold stone. Tapestries depicting great Azgeda battles and crests lined the walls, their colors faded with time but no less intimidating. The air smelled of smoke and iron and something ancient that lingered beneath the surface.

Renn stopped at a sturdy wooden door and opened it, gesturing inside.

“This will be your room, Clarke kom Skaikru,” she said quietly, stepping aside. “Octavia will sleep in the second bed. Bellamy has been given the room next door, and there is a connecting door should you need anything.”

Clarke nodded in thanks. “I appreciate it.”

Renn gave another quiet nod and left without a word, the door clicking shut behind her.

 

Inside, the room was simple but warm. A small fireplace crackled in the corner, the beds piled with thick furs. Clarke stood still for a moment, staring into the fire, the flickering light catching on the tension in her face.

Octavia walked over to her bed and dropped her bag onto it, then glanced over. “Okay, you’ve been quiet ever since that hallway. Spill.”

Clarke turned slowly, her mouth pressed into a line. “It was him.”

Octavia’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

“The man we passed. The one with the scar.” Clarke’s voice was quiet, but there was steel beneath it. “He was there when my dad died. He killed him. I didn’t realize it at first, but I’ve been keeping tabs on the men involved for years. There’s no doubt.”

Octavia stood straighter. “Are you sure?”

Clarke nodded once. “I’m sure.”

The room was quiet for a moment. The fire popped.

“What are you going to do?” Octavia asked, her tone even.

Clarke ran a hand through her hair, clearly unsettled. “I don’t know. If I confront him directly or act too quickly, it’ll raise suspicions. And if Roan thinks I’m here for vengeance and not diplomacy, he could shut everything down. Or worse.”

Octavia crossed her arms. “Then go to Roan. Tell him what you know. Let him decide what to do with it. See where his loyalties really lie.”

Clarke met her gaze. “You think he’ll believe me?”

“I think,” Octavia said, “that if Roan’s serious about peace, he’ll hear you out. If not, then at least you’ll know where you stand.”

Clarke looked back at the fire, jaw tightening.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “You’re right.”

She sat down on the edge of her bed and stared into the flames. She didn’t know what Roan would say. She didn’t even know what she wanted him to say.

But in the morning, she would find out.

—

Clarke stood tall in the center of Roan’s war room, her hands clasped behind her back to steady herself. The room was cold and vast, with weapons lining the walls and an enormous map of the Coalition carved into the stone table between them. Roan stood at the head of it, arms crossed, listening as Clarke recounted the truth she’d carried with her since her first steps inside the Azgeda stronghold.

The man with the deep scar along his jaw had haunted her for years, and now he walked freely through the halls, nodding to guards and sipping mead like he hadn’t been part of the bloodshed that took her father’s life.

“He didn’t just kill my father,” Clarke said, her voice calm but bitter. “He executed members of Skaikru’s council in cold blood. They came here under the guise of diplomacy, and he slaughtered them.”

Roan regarded her silently for a long moment before asking, bluntly, “What is it you want from me, Clarke?”

Clarke didn’t hesitate. “I want him dead.”

The words were heavy in the air between them. Roan tilted his head slightly, watching her with something like admiration and caution.

“I cannot execute one of my own for following orders,” he said plainly. “He did what the queen commanded.“

“You’re king now. The queen’s commands mean nothing.”

Roan stepped closer to the table, resting his hands on the edge. “And what message does it send to my people if I kill a soldier for obeying orders from the throne? That our loyalty is worthless the moment power shifts hands?”

Clarke’s jaw clenched. “So that’s it? He gets to live, and I’m just supposed to eat the injustice?”

Roan’s eyes didn’t waver. “You’re a commander’s wife. Not a reaper. If this is about justice, be honest. You want revenge.”

Clarke didn’t deny it.

Roan gave a short breath, almost a laugh, and leaned back.

“I’m impressed by your fire. You came here talking about trade and peace, but here you are, staring me in the eye and demanding blood.”

“This isn’t a contradiction,” Clarke said. “It’s survival. Whose to say he won’t go after me next?”

Roan considered her for another long beat, then pushed off the table.

“If you can handle it in a way that doesn’t bring it to my feet, if no one can trace it back to you or your people, then fine. Do what you must.” He met her eyes. “But if you make a mistake, if there’s any reason for me to act, I will be forced to. I will have to arrest you.”

Clarke’s heart thudded in her chest, but she nodded.

“Understood.”

Roan walked past her, his footsteps echoing in the stone corridor as he left her alone in the cold war room. Clarke stared down at the map etched in stone.

Now, she had permission.

Not officially. Not publicly.

But it was enough.

—

Clarke stepped back into the quiet of her guest room, the thick stone walls doing little to shake the chill from her bones. Octavia looked up from her place near the window, where she’d been sharpening her blade against the frame.

“Well?” she asked, seeing the look on Clarke’s face. “That was fast.”

Clarke didn’t answer immediately. She shut the door behind her and let out a slow breath.

“He said… if I can do it without making it obvious. Without implicating him. Then I have a green light.”

Octavia blinked. “Seriously?”

Clarke nodded, moving to sit on the edge of her bed. “I can’t believe it either.”

Octavia crossed the room and sat beside her. “So… what’s the plan?”

Clarke was quiet for a moment, fingers loosely interlaced in her lap.

“Poison,” she finally said. “Something Shay told me about once. A mix that doesn’t act right away but damages the stomach and heart over time if dosed high enough. Looks like illness. Internal failure.”

Octavia raised an eyebrow. “You planning to brew that in the corner while we sleep?”

“No,” Clarke said. “But I can’t exactly walk into the kitchens either.”

“So how?”

Clarke looked over at her. “I overheard a conversation earlier. A few maids were talking outside the baths. One of them,’her name’s Sorra, think she’s desperate to get out of here. She kept saying she wanted to leave before she ends up like her sister. She mentioned going to Trishanakru or even seeking asylum in Floukru.”

Octavia leaned back slightly. “So you’re going to bribe her?”

“I’m going to offer her refuge,” Clarke corrected. “Safe passage to Skaikru territory. Papers, if she needs them. A chance to start over somewhere that doesn’t treat her like property. All she has to do is pour the mixture into one cup.”

Octavia tilted her head. “You think she’ll trust you?”

“She’ll trust what I’m offering,” Clarke said. “I can be very persuasive when I need to be.”

Octavia snorted. “Yeah, I know.”

They fell into silence for a beat, the weight of the conversation settling in.

“You gonna tell Lexa?” Octavia asked quietly.

Clarke shook her head immediately. “Not right now. She wouldn’t understand.”

“She might if you explained.”

Clarke’s gaze was distant. “Or she might see it as me threatening the peace she’s worked so hard to build. She’d try to stop me.”

Octavia didn’t argue. She knew the weight Clarke carried. She’d do the same. 

Octavia leaned back against the stone wall, arms folded across her chest as she studied Clarke.

“Alright, but how are you gonna keep it from getting traced back to you?” she asked. “Even if Roan gave you the green light, the moment someone dies while you’re here, you’ll be the first person they look at.”

Clarke didn’t look worried. She met Octavia’s gaze calmly.

“It won’t happen while I’m here,” she said. “Or even right after I leave. The poison I have in mind… it takes time. If she uses it right, it’ll look like an illness. A slow one. People will stop connecting it to this visit within days, let alone weeks.”

Octavia narrowed her eyes. “And you trust this maid to go through with it?”

Clarke shrugged. “If she doesn’t then whatever.”

“Seriously?”

“Look,” Clarke said, her voice low but firm. “I’m giving her a choice. A way out. If she takes it and follows through, good. If she doesn’t, then he lives and I’ll find another way. But I’m not chasing revenge if it means destroying every bit of leverage I’ve built since coming to Polis.”

Octavia stared at her for a moment, then gave a slow nod.

“Alright. You’re colder than people give you credit for.”

“Only when I have to be.”

—

Late that night, Clarke slipped from her room and made her way down the dimly lit corridor of the Azgeda castle. The stone halls were silent, save for the soft echo of her footsteps. She descended into the lower levels until she reached the old wine cellar. A cool, shadowed space tucked beneath the kitchens, filled with rows of barrels and dust-covered bottles.

A few minutes passed before the door creaked open quietly. A young girl stepped inside, glancing around nervously. She was petite, blonde, no older than sixteen. Clarke recognized her from earlier, a servant who moved quietly, kept her head down, and listened more than she spoke.

“You came,” Clarke said softly.

The girl nodded. “You asked for me.”

Clarke stepped forward, pulling a small pouch from her coat. “I’m not going to waste time. I need your help. The man who killed my father is here. You know who I’m talking about?”

The girl nodded. “I do.”

“I want justice. But I can’t do it myself—not without causing an international incident. I need someone no one would suspect. Someone invisible.”

The girl looked up at Clarke, curiosity slowly shifting into intrigue. “What do you want me to do?”

Clarke held out the pouch. “This is a poison. It works slowly, over time. You mix small amounts into his food or drink. Whatever he consumes regularly. He’ll get sick gradually. After my return in a couple days, he should be showing symptoms. By then, no one will tie it to me. If they do… I’ll protect you.”

The girl took the pouch gently, studying it. “And what do I get in return?”

“Safe passage out of Azgeda,” Clarke said. “A place in Floukru. A real home. You’ll be free.”

The girl hesitated, then said, “Can my brother come too?”

Clarke nodded without pause. “Yes. Him too. I promise.”

For the first time, the girl smiled, just faintly. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

Clarke stepped closer, her voice even. “Only a little at a time. Every couple days. Stir it into wine or broth. Something strong that masks the taste. Don’t rush it. The goal is to make it look natural.”

The girl tucked the pouch into her apron. “I understand.”

“Good,” Clarke said, her eyes steady. “I’ll be back soon. When I am, we’ll get you both out.”

The girl nodded, offered a quiet “Thank you,” and slipped out the door as quietly as she had come.

Clarke stood in the cool shadows a moment longer, breathing deep before making her way back to her room.

Chapter 25: Twenty Five

The next morning, the snow outside had softened into a gentle flurry, and the skies above Azgeda were a flat, endless gray. Renn met Clarke just after breakfast, bundled in furs, her breath puffing in the cold air.

“You ready?” she asked with a small smile.

Clarke nodded, adjusting the wrap around her shoulders. “Where are we going today?”

“The masonry district,” Renn said, leading the way. “Where we forge our blades and carve the weapons for our warriors. You should see it—no clan takes more pride in the steel they carry.”

Clarke followed her through the winding stone streets of the capital. It wasn’t long before the clang of hammer on metal filled the air, echoing across the buildings. They entered a courtyard surrounded by squat, open workshops. Blackened chimneys rose from each roof, smoke curling into the pale sky.

Inside, dozens of smiths moved with purpose, working the forges. Clarke’s eyes swept across the room, rows of weapons in varying stages of completion, from short daggers to long, curved swords. The air smelled of fire, iron, and oil.

Renn gestured toward a row of finished pieces displayed on a long bench. “These are ceremonial and battle-ready. Each clan that visits gets to study them. Azgeda’s smiths are the best in the Coalition. Most of these are meant for royal guards or for trade.”

Clarke moved closer, running her fingers gently over the spine of a dagger. The metal was etched with intricate symbols. Snowflakes, wolves, and ice flowers. The craftsmanship was beautiful. She examined each one carefully, noting the different weights and handles, the way each had its own subtle balance.

One, in particular, caught her eye. It was a mid-length knife with a bone handle and a blade that shimmered faintly in the light. The smith behind the table approached, speaking something in Trigedasleng with a crooked grin.

Clarke glanced at Renn.

“He wants to know if you’d like one,” Renn translated. “He says it suits you.”

Clarke gave a small, pleased smile and nodded. “Tell him yes.”

She reached into her coat and pulled out a small pouch of Skaikru-minted coins. The smith took it, opened it and immediately blinked in surprise. He mumbled something quickly, almost flustered.

Renn laughed. “He says this is too much. Far too much.”

Clarke shook her head, offering the smith a soft smile as she gently pushed his hand back toward him. “Let him keep it. Tell him I appreciate the craftsmanship.”

Renn translated, and the man stared at Clarke a moment longer before giving her a small bow and a grateful smile.

Clarke tucked the blade into her belt carefully and turned back toward the path they came from. “Let’s keep going.”

Renn fell in beside her, quiet for a while before she spoke again.

“Azgeda may be known for blood and ice, but there’s beauty here too. If you know where to look.”

Clarke glanced at her, thoughtful. “I’m starting to see that.”

“Would you like to see something… off record?” Renn asked quietly.

Clarke looked up from her notes. “Off record?”

Renn gave a small nod. “Roan told me not to show you. Said it’s not necessary. But I see no harm. And I think you should understand Azgeda fully, if you’re going to trust us.”

That last part made Clarke pause. Trust was something neither of them had much of yet, but the offer didn’t feel like a trap. It felt like a peace offering.

“Alright,” Clarke said, pulling on her coat.

Renn led her through the narrow corridors of the palace, away from the grand stone halls and toward older, less kept parts of the structure. The light dimmed with each turn until they reached a grated door guarded by a soldier, who stepped aside without a word. Renn handed him a small iron key.

Beyond it was darkness.

Renn lit a torch.

“They’re old war tunnels,” she explained as they stepped down into the stone-walled corridor. “Used when the Ice Nation was at war with Trishanakru and the Border Clans. Some connect to hidden exits miles outside the capital. Others go directly under the palace.”

Clarke ran a hand along the frosted stone. “So if Azgeda ever wanted to take Polis…”

“We’d know every way in and out,” Renn finished, voice soft but firm.

There was a silence between them.

“Why are you showing me this?” Clarke asked at last, slowing her pace.

Renn didn’t meet her eyes. “Because you’re trying. And because I don’t think Roan sees what you’re really doing here.”

Clarke studied her for a moment, and for the first time, she saw something vulnerable in Renn—not softness, exactly, but a quiet need to be seen as more than her clan’s sharp edges.

“Thank you,” Clarke said honestly. 

Renn just nodded and turned back to the passage. “Come. There’s a shortcut back through the armory.”

—

Clarke had just taken off her coat and set her weapon on the small table near the window when the radio on her nightstand crackled softly.

“Clarke?”

Lexa’s voice was quiet, cautious. The sound made Clarke pause before she quickly stepped over and picked it up, holding down the call button.

“Hey,” Clarke said, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the tension lingering in her shoulders. “Perfect timing.”

“I wanted to check in,” Lexa answered. Her voice was steady, but there was something beneath it—something Clarke couldn’t quite name. “How has Azgeda treated you so far?”

Clarke leaned back in the chair by her bed, letting her head rest against the wall. “Better than expected,” she admitted. “Roan greeted us at the gate himself. He’s been… diplomatic. Direct, as always.”

“And Renn?”

Clarke hesitated. “She’s young, but serious. She showed me around today. Took me to the masonry district and then… somewhere she wasn’t supposed to.”

There was a pause on the other end. “Where?”

“Old war tunnels beneath the castle,” Clarke said. “Renn said Roan told her not to, but she thought I should understand the full scope of Azgeda’s history.”

Lexa exhaled audibly. “And do you?”

“Enough to know they’ve always prepared for the worst,” Clarke said, her voice quiet. “But Renn didn’t bring me down there to intimidate me. I think it was her way of showing me she doesn’t want to be like Nia.”

Another pause.

“She’s different from Ontari,” Clarke added gently, as if she could sense Lexa’s mind wandering to darker places.

“I’m glad,” Lexa finally said. “You sound tired.”

Clarke looked around the dim room. “It’s cold. And heavy here. But we’re doing the diplomatic dances. I’ll be attending a formal dinner tomorrow night.”

There was a faint hint of a smile in Lexa’s tone when she replied. “You always did like a challenge.”

Clarke laughed softly. “I prefer action. But this matters.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

Lexa finally said, “I miss you.”

Clarke closed her eyes. “I miss you too.”

But she didn’t mention the man in the hallway. Or the poison tucked safely in her satchel. Or the deal with a young maid who would wait weeks before striking.

Some things, for now, had to stay unsaid.

“I’ll call again tomorrow,” Lexa said, softer now.

“I’ll be waiting,” Clarke replied, before letting the silence return.

The radio went still, and Clarke sat in the quiet, staring at the wall and letting the weight of her choices settle over her again.

—

The courtyard of the Azgeda stronghold was buzzing with the sounds of grunts, laughter, and the sharp clash of bodies meeting snow-packed ground. Morning training had begun, and Azgeda warriors, both seasoned and young, moved with lethal precision under the sharp eye of their instructors.

Clarke pulled her hair into a tight braid as she stepped out into the cold, armored in lightweight gear lent to her by Roan’s quartermaster. Beside her, Octavia tightened the laces of her gloves, stretching and bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“This is going to be fun,” Octavia said, a glint of excitement in her eyes. “Try to keep up.”

Clarke shot her a dry look. “You do remember I was trained, right?”

“Trained and experienced are two different things,” Octavia replied with a teasing grin.

The two women stepped into the training circle as an Azgeda instructor raised his hand to silence the others. His sharp voice rang out in Trigedasleng, instructing everyone to pair up. Roan watched from the far end of the yard, arms crossed, with Renn standing beside him.

Clarke glanced over at Renn, who gave her a curt nod of acknowledgment, then turned her focus back to Octavia. The two dropped into stances, circling slowly, the cold air frosting their breath.

Octavia struck first, quick, testing movements. But Clarke blocked, shifted, and returned with a jab of her own. Their sparring drew some attention from the others. Most didn’t expect the ambassador from Skaikru to hold her own. But Clarke had trained with Anya, and Anya didn’t believe in going easy.

Their dance grew faster. Clarke ducked under a sweeping arm, rolled over her shoulder, and came back up swinging. Octavia caught the blow on her forearm and kicked Clarke’s knee gently, forcing her to stumble.

“Better,” Octavia said between breaths. “You’re not just fighting to survive anymore.”

“I’ve had to learn fast,” Clarke replied, wiping sweat from her brow despite the chill.

The instructor clapped once, signaling partners to switch. A tall Azgeda warrior stepped in for Octavia, giving Clarke a once-over. He didn’t look thrilled to be paired with her. Still, he dropped into position.

Clarke took a breath, watching him closely. He moved differently. Heavier, slower, but stronger. His first blow nearly knocked the wind out of her, and Clarke adjusted quickly, using her smaller frame to stay nimble, darting to his sides, looking for openings.

Their spar didn’t last long. She landed one sharp elbow to his gut and ducked the retaliating fist, but a sudden sweep of his leg knocked her flat. She hit the ground with a grunt.

The man extended a hand. Clarke took it.

“You fight better than I expected,” he said in accented English. “But you think too much.”

“Guilty,” Clarke replied, brushing snow off her clothes.

Roan approached as the session ended. He gestured for Clarke to follow him aside.

“You surprised a few of my people,” he said. “That’s not easy to do.”

Clarke smirked, breath still catching up with her. “Glad to be of service.”

“I think we’ll move forward with the forum tomorrow,” Roan added. “You’ll sit with the elders and council reps. Talk through the proposals we discussed.”

Clarke nodded, feeling a new wave of nerves creep in.

“After that, we host a hunt. You’ll ride out with us if you’re up for it.”

Clarke arched an eyebrow. “Hand-to-hand today, a hunt tomorrow? You really want to put the ambassador through it.”

Roan grinned faintly. “No better way to prove you’re not just here to talk.”

Clarke looked back over at Octavia, who had joined Bellamy on the sidelines. For the first time since arriving in Azgeda, she felt like she wasn’t just surviving this visit. She was holding her own.

—

The great hall of Azgeda’s fortress was transformed that evening, lit by tall iron sconces and a roaring hearth that tried valiantly to fight off the ever-present chill. Long stone tables were lined with food. Hearty meats, roasted root vegetables, and thick stews fragrant with herbs native to the icy territory. Clan banners draped from the walls above, and guards stood silent at every entry point.

Clarke entered beside Bellamy and Octavia, her formal cloak pinned with the Skaikru sigil. Her braid had been redone in the Azgeda style, a gesture of respect suggested by Renn. She was announced as “Clarke kom Skaikru, ambassador to the Coalition” and guided to the table nearest Roan’s, where the visiting leaders were seated.

Roan stood at the head of the room, a goblet in hand.

“We gather tonight in peace,” he began, his deep voice carrying through the chamber. “Not only to share food but to share vision. Skaikru has come seeking partnership and it is my belief we hear them.”

He nodded toward Clarke and every face turned her way.

Clarke rose slowly, her heart steady despite the pressure of the moment. She met Roan’s gaze briefly before speaking.

“Thank you, Roan. It’s been an honor to spend these past days in Azgeda. I’m here on behalf of my people and the Commander to negotiate what comes next. Land rights, trade, and peace.”

There was a murmur of interest. Some leaders leaned in, others remained skeptical.

She continued, “Skaikru settled near the border between Trikru and Azgeda. We request formal recognition of that land, not as its own sovereign nation but as a part of the Coalition. In exchange, Skaikru will offer access to advanced farming technology, training in medical practice, and radio communications to strengthen long-range coordination between clans.”

A burly man with a thick fur cloak, representing Trishanakru, grunted.

“And if we say no? Why should you keep that land?”

Clarke didn’t blink. “Because if you say no, you push a growing clan into desperation and desperate people act rashly. But if you say yes, you gain an ally who can offer tools no other clan has. Tools to heal, build, and protect.”

Another voice came, this time from a slender woman with weather-worn skin, representing Delfikru.

“What of Azgeda? Your land sits on their border. What if tensions rise again?”

Roan spoke before Clarke could. “We will honor the border and maintain neutrality. Skaikru has caused no harm to us since joining the Coalition. We accept the terms, as long as mutual respect remains.”

Clarke turned to the woman. “And if it helps ease your minds, Skaikru will send a small group of emissaries to your clans, free of weapons, to begin building trust. I will personally oversee their assignments.”

The room quieted. Bowls were passed. Goblets filled. For a moment, everyone was simply eating.

Bellamy leaned over and whispered, “You’re doing fine. They’re not throwing anything.”

Clarke managed a quick smile. “Yet.”

As the meal wound down, the conversation picked back up, this time in smaller groups. Clarke found herself sitting between the youngest Trikru envoy and the ambassador from Boudalankru, both discussing trade.

The Sangedakru envoy asked, “Is it true Skaikru can grow food year-round?”

“We can, with the right tools,” Clarke said. “We use enclosed environments and artificial light. I’d be willing to discuss building a prototype in Trikru territory as a show of goodwill.”

The Azgeda representative looked intrigued. “What would you want in return?”

“Access to your fishing systems,” Clarke replied. “And regular shipments to Polis.”

As negotiations continued, Clarke caught Roan watching her from across the table. He lifted his cup once in subtle acknowledgment. She returned the gesture, her eyes flickering with equal parts relief and strategy.

Later that night, as the hall emptied and torches were doused, Clarke stood outside on the frost-covered stone steps, arms folded tight against the cold. Bellamy joined her quietly.

“You’re building something real,” he said.

Clarke nodded. “Let’s just hope it lasts.”

Chapter 26: Twenty Six

Notes:

🤭

The air was sharp that morning, crisp with Azgeda’s signature bite. A thin frost clung to the grasses and pine needles as Clarke stood near the stables, adjusting the straps of her hunting cloak. Roan approached her with a flicker of amusement in his eyes, gesturing to a beautiful mare being led toward her.

The horse was striking. Gray and white with a long silver mane and intelligent dark eyes. It moved with calm precision, muscles rippling beneath its winter coat. Clarke blinked, surprised.

“She’s yours,” Roan said, folding his arms. “A gift from Azgeda’s council and myself. Consider it a gesture of goodwill for the negotiations and your effort to understand our ways.”

Clarke stepped forward, brushing her fingers along the mare’s neck. The animal responded with a soft snort and lowered its head slightly. She smiled.

“She’s beautiful. Thank you.”

Renn, already mounted nearby, gave a small approving nod. “We call her Iska. It means frost.”

Octavia appeared beside her, swinging up onto her own horse. “Try to keep up, diplomat.”

The group set off shortly after, a dozen riders in total, moving deeper into the pine-dense forest outside the capital. The goal was straightforward, gather game for the upcoming seasonal feast. It was also, Clarke knew, a chance to observe Azgeda’s customs further and reinforce her commitment to the Coalition.

They rode in mostly silence, the rhythmic sound of hooves crunching over icy ground filling the air. Clarke held the reins steady, adapting to Iska’s gait with growing confidence. Every so often, she glanced at the warriors flanking them, absorbing the balance of discipline and tension in their movements.

When the cry went up, boar sighted, the calm shattered. Roan signaled, and the riders broke into pursuit. Iska surged forward at Clarke’s command, heart racing with the wind as trees blurred around her.

She barely saw the dip in the terrain ahead.

Iska reared suddenly, panicked by the sudden snap of underbrush, and Clarke’s balance faltered. She was thrown from the saddle before she could even cry out, her body twisting in midair before crashing hard into the forest floor.

Everything blurred.

There was the thud of her head hitting frozen ground. A sharp sting shot through her skull. Distant shouts echoed through the trees as she fought to remain conscious.

When her vision finally focused, Octavia was kneeling beside her.

“Clarke. Clarke, can you hear me?”

Clarke blinked, groaning softly. Her hand instinctively reached for the back of her head. Her fingers came away sticky.

“I’m fine,” she murmured, though the world still tilted slightly.

The Azgeda healer crouched nearby, already examining her. He peeled back her hood and checked her pupils, muttering something to Octavia in Trigedasleng.

“She might have a concussion,” Octavia said, brushing Clarke’s hair gently from her face. “We should take her back.”

“I can keep going,” Clarke tried, but Octavia shot her a glare.

“You can barely sit up straight.”

Roan dismounted and approached, frowning as he surveyed the situation. After a pause, he nodded once.

“Take her back to the capital. Or better, Arkadia. You’ll get better care there.”

“I’m not going to make a fuss,” Clarke said with a wince. “Let’s just go.”

Iska had already been calmed and led away. Octavia helped Clarke to her feet, supporting her as they made their slow way back to the edge of the woods.

Clarke’s head pounded with every step, her vision still blurred around the edges, but her mind remained stubbornly clear.

The mission in Azgeda was not over.

But for today, survival came first.

—

Clarke sat quietly on the edge of the bed as she pulled on her riding boots, her movements slower than usual. The pounding in her head had dulled but hadn’t disappeared. The healer’s warning still echoed in her ears, she needed rest and further evaluation. A concussion wasn’t something to ignore.

She looked around the room she had been staying in within the icy Azgeda castle. Her satchel lay open on the table, and she began packing only what she needed for the short trip back to Arkadia. The rest—her journal, a few gifts from the artisans of Azgeda, the elegant dagger she’d received in the masonry district. She left where they were. She’d be back soon, she told herself. This wasn’t the end of the mission.

Octavia leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed as she watched Clarke pack. “You okay?”

Clarke gave a small nod, securing her satchel. “Yeah. Just taking what I need. No point in lugging it all back and forth.”

Octavia pushed off the frame and walked toward her, glancing once at the small table Clarke had intentionally left half-filled. “You’re really planning on coming back?”

Clarke zipped her coat up and slung the satchel over her shoulder. “I have to. We’re not done here. There’s still the feast, the final negotiations, the healer’s tour Roan mentioned. I can’t just leave it unfinished.”

Octavia nodded. “Alright. Then let’s get you checked out so you’re not blacking out in the middle of the woods next time.”

The two made their way down the long corridor, boots echoing off the stone. Outside, the sky was soft with early dusk. Their horses were already saddled and waiting, steam rising from their flanks in the frigid air. Roan was not present, likely busy with other affairs, but a soldier handed Clarke a sealed note and said it was from him. She tucked it into her coat for later.

Mounting her horse with Octavia’s help, Clarke gave a last glance over her shoulder at the towering stone walls of the Azgeda stronghold. She had not expected to feel reluctant leaving. But something about the unfinished business, both diplomatic and personal, nagged at her.

They set off quietly, the cold biting at their cheeks as they rode southward.

—

By the time they reached the gates of Arkadia, the sun had already begun to set. The journey had been quiet, Clarke too tired to talk and Octavia wisely letting her rest. The pounding in Clarke’s skull had only worsened, and her limbs felt heavy as she dismounted.

Abby was already waiting at the gate. Word had arrived before them, likely sent by Roan through one of Azgeda’s riders. Abby’s eyes scanned her daughter with maternal concern, not even pretending to hide it.

“You alright?” she asked, stepping forward to help Clarke steady herself.

“Just tired,” Clarke said softly. “And the headache’s gotten worse.”

Abby nodded, wrapping an arm around Clarke’s back. “Come on. I want to take a look at you now.”

Octavia gave Clarke’s shoulder a gentle pat before stepping aside to stable the horses. Clarke followed her mother through the gates and into the medical wing, each step making her head throb a little more.

Inside, Abby moved quickly. She checked Clarke’s pupils, tested her balance, and ran through a brief neurological exam. She was focused and quiet, though Clarke could sense something shifting in her demeanor.

“It’s definitely a concussion,” Abby confirmed. “You need to rest. No reading, no long conversations, and definitely no more riding through freezing forests.”

Clarke gave a weak smile. “Got it.”

But Abby wasn’t finished.

“There’s something else,” she said, hesitating as she looked at the results from Clarke’s vitals and bloodwork. “Something I found during the exam.”

Clarke’s eyebrows furrowed. “What is it?”

Abby met her daughter’s eyes, and there was a long pause. She sighed, clearly wrestling with how to say it, then finally let the words fall.

“You’re pregnant.”

Clarke stared at her, the words not registering at first.

“What?”

“You’re pregnant,” Abby repeated gently. “The early signs showed up during the scan I ran. It wasn’t what I was looking for, but… it’s confirmed.”

Clarke sat frozen on the cot, her brain trying to catch up with the world around her. Her hands instinctively went to her stomach. Her mouth opened, then closed again as she struggled to speak.

“No, that’s—no, my implant—” she stopped herself.

“Not 100% effective unfortunately.”

Abby watched her daughter carefully. “I take it this wasn’t expected.”

Clarke shook her head slowly. “Not even a little.”

She closed her eyes, Lexa’s face flashing through her mind.

“Is the baby okay?” Clarke finally asked, her voice just above a whisper.

Abby softened. “It’s early. But yes, from what I can see, everything looks fine. I’ll run more tests to make sure. But you need to rest, and you need to take care of yourself. That means no stress, Clarke. No climbing cliffs, no fighting, no politics for a while.”

Clarke let out a shaky breath, hand still resting lightly against her stomach.

A baby.

She was no where near ready.

—

Clarke adjusted the reins in her hands as her horse moved steadily across the snow-packed path. The cold Azgeda wind stung her cheeks, but the crisp air was strangely invigorating. After several days of rest in Arkadia, her concussion had eased enough for Abby to clear her for travel. Still, the ride back to Azgeda was quieter than usual, until Octavia finally broke the silence.

“You sure you’re okay to travel?”

Clarke nodded. “Yeah. Abby gave me the go-ahead. No dizziness, no nausea. Just a headache now and then.”

“Good,” Octavia said, tugging her scarf tighter around her neck. “Because I’ve had enough med bays for a while.”

They rode in silence for a while, the rhythmic sound of hooves crunching snow filling the quiet. Then, as the castle loomed faintly in the distance, Clarke inhaled deeply.

“I need to tell you something.”

Octavia looked over, raising a brow. “What now?”

Clarke hesitated, her gloved fingers tightening slightly on the reins. “I’m pregnant.”

Octavia stopped riding, pulling back on her horse with a sharp jolt. Clarke slowed to a halt as well, letting the silence hang.

“You’re what?”

Clarke gave a small nod, eyes scanning the frosted trees. “Abby found out during my exam. I didn’t know before.”

Octavia blinked several times before shaking her head. “You didn’t tell me this in the med bay. Or on the road. Or—what the hell, Clarke?”

“I had to wrap my own head around it first,” Clarke admitted. “I didn’t even think it was possible with the timing of the implant. But here we are.”

Octavia let out a long exhale. “Wow.”

Clarke looked down at her hands, quiet for a long moment. “I have mixed feelings. I mean, part of me is happy, I think. But mostly… I’m scared.”

“Scared of what?”

Clarke’s voice softened. “Of what kind of world this child is coming into. Of the politics. The danger. Of what it might mean for Lexa. And what happens if the clans find out too early.”

Octavia’s expression grew serious. “Yeah. That’s not nothing. You two are already under a lot of scrutiny.”

“I’m trying to hold it together,” Clarke said, her voice wavering slightly. “But it feels like everything just got more complicated.”

Octavia nudged her horse forward again, riding beside her. “You’re not alone in this, Clarke. You’ve got Lexa. You’ve got me. Raven, your mom. And you’re already a better leader than most people twice your age.”

Clarke gave her a grateful glance, eyes misting over a bit. “Thanks.”

—

The soft whir of the radio stirred the quiet of Clarke’s room in Azgeda. She had just settled into bed, her body still sore from the fall, when the static cleared and a familiar voice came through.

“Clarke. Do you copy?”

Clarke sat up slowly, a small smile forming as she reached for the device. “I hear you. Hey.”

Lexa’s breath of relief was audible, even through the faint crackle of the line. “I heard about the accident. Roan sent word. Are you alright?”

Clarke leaned back against the headboard, letting her voice soften. “I’m okay. A mild concussion, nothing serious. Abby insisted I rest for a couple of days just to be safe.”

“You should have told me sooner,” Lexa said quietly, the tension evident in her tone.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Clarke said, then added, “I didn’t expect to get thrown off a horse in the middle of a boar chase either.”

Lexa let out a breath that sounded like a mix of amusement and frustration. “You can’t get yourself killed every time I’m not watching.”

Clarke smiled. “I’ll do my best. I’m heading back to Azgeda in the morning.”

There was a brief pause, then Lexa asked, “Did the injury delay any progress?”

“Surprisingly, no. I finalized a few things before the hunt.” Clarke sat up straighter, grabbing her notebook from the bedside table. “I secured three trade routes through Azgeda territory. One for raw materials and metalwork, one for textiles and leather, and one for medicinal herbs from the northern border.”

Lexa sounded pleased. “That’s excellent.”

“Also,” Clarke continued, flipping through her notes, “Roan agreed to a limited cultural exchange. Two healers and one political liaison will travel to Arkadia in the next moon. In return, we’ll send Raven to help with tech upgrades in their outer villages.”

There was a pause before Lexa said, “That’s more than I expected. You’ve done well, Clarke.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, her fingers brushing the edge of the sheets. “I wasn’t sure how much I’d get from Roan, but he’s trying to rebuild after Nia. And… I think he knows the Coalition’s survival depends on better ties with Skaikru.”

Lexa’s voice was softer now. “You’re a skilled negotiator. Even without me at your side.”

Clarke’s throat tightened. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Lexa replied, her voice thick with emotion. “Every night.”

They lingered in the silence, neither wanting to end the call just yet. Finally, Clarke whispered, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Lexa said. “Be safe. And Clarke?”

“Yeah?”

“Try to stay on the horse tomorrow.”

Clarke laughed. “No promises.”

Clarke sat in the dim light of her room, the radio silent in her hands, Lexa’s voice still echoing in her ears.

She should’ve told her.

She knew that.

Her fingers tightened around the device as guilt pooled in her stomach. It wasn’t that she wanted to keep it from Lexa, how could she? The woman she loved. The woman who had already lost so much, who had already been made to carry the weight of the world more times than any one person should.

But that was exactly it. Lexa had endured too much already. And Clarke wasn’t ready to hand her this yet, not when it was still so fresh, so fragile, not when she herself wasn’t even sure how to feel about it.

Clarke exhaled, slow and measured. Her free hand drifted toward her stomach, resting there gently, protectively. She didn’t feel any different yet, not physically. No fluttering movements, no rounded belly, just the knowledge that something was changing. 

How do you tell someone that your life just shifted without warning? That everything between the two of you is about to change?

She knew Lexa would be a good mother. Fierce and kind and grounding. But what would this do to her now? With the Coalition still so unsteady, with Azgeda barely holding peace, with Clarke herself negotiating new terms with Roan and walking dangerous lines?

The last thing Lexa needed was another vulnerability. Another person to protect. Another Costia.

Clarke bit the inside of her cheek at the thought. No, she couldn’t tell her, not yet. Not until she was sure. Not until she could say the words without her voice shaking.

And maybe, deep down, she feared that Lexa wouldn’t be angry, but would blame herself. That somehow, even in this, she would carry the burden of Clarke’s choices. The risk. The fallout.

She laid the radio back down on the nightstand and slid under the covers, curling onto her side.

She missed Lexa deeply. But for now, this secret would be hers to carry. Just for a little while longer.

Chapter 27: Twenty Seven

Notes:

Sorryyyyy <3

The night air was crisp as Clarke ascended the narrow stairs to the rooftop of the Azgeda stronghold, her boots softly echoing against the stone. The stars stretched endlessly above her, unbothered by the weight in her chest. She had finalized the last of the trade agreements that afternoon. Grain routes through Azgeda territory, shared access to northern hunting grounds, and Skaikru’s first formal acknowledgment as a partner in Coalition economics.

It should’ve felt like victory.

But instead, all she wanted was air.

The breeze off the frozen mountains cooled her skin as she stepped out onto the roof. The silence up here was almost sacred, just the distant sound of wind scraping against the stone towers and the low hum of torches below. She wrapped her cloak tighter around her and exhaled slowly, trying to clear her mind.

She hadn’t told Lexa. She hadn’t told anyone else yet either. The weight of the pregnancy, the danger of secrets, it all pressed in around her like frostbitten pressure. But she’d made it through the week. Tomorrow, she’d return to Polis. Tomorrow, she’d tell Lexa.

Her mind wandered toward the future, eyes fixed on the stars. Until she heard it.

Footsteps.

Slow. Confident.

She turned quickly, every muscle tight, only to come face-to-face with a figure stepping out of the shadows. A tall man, weathered, his face partially covered by a scarf pulled low, but his eyes. Those cruel, calculating eyes, she would recognize anywhere.

Her blood turned cold.

“You,” she breathed.

The man smirked, stepping closer until the torchlight revealed the full of his scarred face. The same man from the corridor days ago. The man who had murdered her father during the so-called negotiations all those years ago. His presence was like poison in the air.

“I thought I recognized that look,” he said, his voice low and sharp like shattered glass. “The little girl from the summit. You’ve grown.”

Clarke held her ground, but her heart thudded like war drums in her chest.

“Your father screamed, you know,” he added casually, like he was recounting the weather. “Begged for mercy before we gutted him. But mercy is rare in Azgeda.”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

He stepped closer, now just a few feet from her. “I should kill you. But you—” he gestured vaguely toward her belly, unaware of what he implied “—you’ve become quite the figure, haven’t you? The commander’s wife. The diplomat. Untouchable.”

Clarke clenched her jaw, every nerve alight, her hand itching for the dagger hidden beneath her cloak.

“But don’t think your status protects you forever,” he added, eyes narrowing. “People like me? We never forget. You’ll slip someday.”

And just like that, he turned, walking away with a cruel grin, his footsteps fading down the stairs like smoke.

Clarke stood frozen, her breath shaky. It had taken all her strength not to draw the blade and plunge it into his back. But not here. Not yet. Her time would come.

—

The next morning broke cold and gray, snow dusting the steps of the Azgeda keep. Clarke kept her hood low as she moved through the servants’ corridor, avoiding the attention of guards or nobles already stirring. She slipped into the rear kitchen quietly, where the girl from the wine cellar was waiting, just as planned.

She was young, but her eyes were sharp. Calculated. Loyal, if not desperate. Her hands were wrapped tightly around the cloth pouch Clarke had given her earlier in the week, the same one containing the herbal toxin.

“Still sure?” Clarke asked, her voice low.

The girl nodded once, tucking the pouch deeper into her apron. “He drinks every night. It’ll be easy. A few drops. He’ll grow weaker over time. The others will think it’s sickness.”

Clarke reached into her coat and pulled out a small bag of coins. “This should hold you over until we return. When you’re ready, we’ll make arrangements for you and your brother to go to Floukru.”

The girl accepted the coin with wide eyes and a grateful smile. “Thank you. Really.”

Clarke gave a curt nod, not trusting herself to say more. The weight of what she was doing pressed heavily on her chest. But it didn’t stop her.

She turned and slipped out of the kitchen as quietly as she’d come.

—

By midday, Clarke and Octavia had loaded up the rover, their belongings tucked away in the back as they left the walls of Azgeda behind. The sun had finally broken through the clouds, casting a dull gold light over the snowy trees that lined the road.

Octavia drove in silence for a while, her eyes on the path ahead, hands steady on the controls. But Clarke knew the question was coming.

Sure enough, just past the ridgeline, Octavia spoke.

“So…” she started slowly, her voice casual, “are you going to tell her?”

Clarke looked at her. “Tell who what?”

Octavia raised a brow. “Lexa. About the baby. About the slow-burning revenge you’ve just set in motion. Pick one.”

“Yeah,” she said at last.

Octavia leaned back slightly, surprised. “You’re really going to tell her?”

Clarke nodded, her voice steady but tired. “She deserves to know what I did. What I planned. I kept it from her because I didn’t want to put her in a position where she had to stop me. But we’re supposed to be partners. She trusted me to handle things, and I did. I just… I need her to know it all.”

Octavia studied her for a moment, then gave a slow nod. “Alright. You sure you’re ready for whatever comes from that?”

“No,” Clarke admitted. “But I’m tired of hiding things. If I want Lexa to trust me, I have to show her that I trust her too. Even with the dark parts.”

Octavia didn’t argue. Instead, she gave a faint, approving smile.

“And the girl in the kitchen?” she asked after a moment.

“I’ll take responsibility for her too,” Clarke said. “If Lexa wants to offer her protection, fine. If not, I’ll make sure she and her brother get out safely. No matter what.”

They drove in silence for a while longer, the trees thinning as Polis slowly grew closer.

She was ready. 

—

The gates of Polis loomed high as the rover pulled in. Clarke felt her chest tighten with anticipation. The city had always held weight, but today it felt different. Heavier. She barely had time to unbuckle her seatbelt before the doors to the tower opened and Lexa was striding toward her, green cloak trailing behind her in the breeze.

Clarke stepped out into the sunlight just in time for Lexa to reach her.

Lexa said nothing at first. She simply wrapped her arms around Clarke, pulling her close and holding her tightly. Her hands swept over her arms, down to her waist, searching for any signs of lingering injury.

“Are you alright?” she asked, finally pulling back enough to meet Clarke’s eyes.

Clarke gave a soft smile and nodded. “I’m fine. Just a bump to the head. I’ve been cleared.”

Lexa exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for days. She took Clarke’s hand in hers and began leading her toward the tower. “You’ll rest. Dinner will be brought to our chambers tonight. You shouldn’t have to sit through any formalities.”

Clarke didn’t argue. She appreciated the quiet. Especially given what she was about to say.

Twenty minutes later, Clarke was out of her travel clothes, freshly bathed and in a soft linen dress. The sun was dipping low outside their windows, casting golden light across the room. A knock at the door signaled the arrival of dinner. Grilled fish, roasted vegetables, warm bread, and a bottle of Polis red wine.

Clarke had just finished lighting a few candles when Lexa uncorked the wine, reaching for two cups.

“Wait,” Clarke said gently, her voice just above a whisper.

Lexa paused, glancing at her. Clarke moved closer, her hands nervously fidgeting as she tried to find the right words.

“I… need to tell you something. And I need you to just let me say it before you say anything, okay?”

Lexa set the bottle down slowly and nodded, her expression neutral.

Clarke swallowed hard. “I’m pregnant.”

Silence stretched between them like a taut string.

Lexa didn’t move. Her face was unreadable—shocked, yes, but also something else beneath the surface. Calculation, maybe. Fear. Hope?

Clarke continued, her voice softer now. “I found out after the accident. Abby ran some tests. I didn’t know before, I swear.”

Lexa blinked, her expression beginning to thaw. Slowly, her brows lifted and her mouth parted with a quiet exhale.

“You’re sure?” she asked.

Clarke nodded. “Eight weeks along. I was already a few weeks when I left Polis the first time. I had no idea.”

For a moment, Lexa just stared at her. Then, she stepped forward, closing the distance between them and placing a warm, tentative hand over Clarke’s stomach. When she didn’t flinch, Lexa moved her other hand to Clarke’s cheek and leaned in.

“I thought you were keeping something from me,” she said quietly. “But I never imagined this.”

Clarke gave a breathy laugh, nerves still prickling her skin. “I wasn’t trying to. I just… I needed to tell you in person.”

Lexa nodded slowly. A smile broke across her face, small but sincere.

“We’re having a baby,” she whispered.

Tears welled in Clarke’s eyes, but she blinked them away. “Is that… okay?”

Lexa let out a shaky breath, then leaned in and kissed her deeply. “It’s more than okay.”

Clarke could still feel the warmth of Lexa’s lips on hers when she pulled back just slightly, enough to look her in the eye. The comfort and joy in Lexa’s expression made Clarke hesitate. But she knew she couldn’t keep it from her. Not anymore.

“Lexa,” she said gently, brushing her thumb along Lexa’s jaw. “I need you to hold onto that happiness. Just for a moment longer. Because what I’m about to say might take it away.”

Lexa’s brow furrowed immediately, the joy beginning to flicker. “Clarke… what is it?”

Clarke stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself and exhaling slowly. “When I was in Azgeda… I saw the man who killed my father.”

Lexa’s posture straightened, her expression darkening. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve been keeping tabs on him for years. His face is burned into my memory. I recognized him almost instantly.” Clarke’s voice was low, steady, but there was a tremor beneath it.

Lexa was silent, her jaw clenched.

“I wanted to confront him. I wanted justice. But Roan made it clear he wouldn’t authorize any formal punishment, not when the man had acted under Nia’s orders. So I asked for something else.”

Lexa stared at her, not liking where this was headed.

Clarke swallowed hard. “He said if I could do it quietly, in a way that couldn’t be traced back to me… he wouldn’t intervene. So I set something in motion. A slow-acting poison, delivered by a kitchen worker who agreed in exchange for safe refuge. She and her brother will come to Polis when it’s done. I already arranged for them to be brought here.”

Lexa’s expression collapsed into one of disbelief, then fury. She took a step back.

“You… planned an assassination. Without telling me. While pregnant.”

Clarke winced. “I didn’t know I was pregnant when I did it.”

“That’s not the point, Clarke,” Lexa snapped. “Do you realize what you’ve done? Even if Roan agreed, you just gave him all the leverage he needs to turn on us. If anything goes wrong, if anyone talks, it won’t just be on you. It’ll be on me. On Polis.”

Clarke stepped forward, trying to calm her. “Lexa, I know. I didn’t do this lightly. But he murdered my father. He killed members of Skaikru’s council. And he’s walking free. I couldn’t—”

“You couldn’t wait?” Lexa interrupted, her voice sharp. “You couldn’t come to me first? You’re not just Skaikru anymore. You’re my wife. You are part of this alliance. You act alone, you put everyone at risk.”

Clarke’s shoulders sank. “I trusted Roan. He gave his word.”

Lexa scoffed bitterly. “Roan is a ruler. Like me. His word shifts with strategy. For all you know, this was a test. A trap. And now, if anything happens, you’re exposed and so is the baby.”

“It can’t be traced back to me,” Clarke insisted. “It’s slow. Subtle. Spread out over weeks. No one will suspect anything. And by the time it’s complete, we’ll be gone.”

Lexa’s voice was sharp. “Does anyone else know?”

Clarke hesitated. “I bribed a kitchen maid. Young girl. I promised her and her brother refuge in Polis once it’s done. She’ll deliver the doses, and when it’s finished, we bring them here.”

Lexa turned back, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “You trusted Roan. A man who was raised under Nia’s rule. A man who has every reason to turn this against you if it benefits him.”

Clarke nodded, her voice quiet. “I know. I know it wasn’t smart. But it felt right. And Roan agreed, as long as it couldn’t trace back to me.”

Lexa shook her head. “Even if he agreed, what if this girl gets caught? What if she talks? What if Roan changes his mind and claims you acted without consent? Then what?”

Clarke swallowed hard. “Then I take responsibility.”

Lexa’s voice broke slightly. “You’re not just Skaikru anymore. You’re mine. You’re part of this alliance. You can’t make decisions like this on your own.”

Clarke’s eyes glistened. “I didn’t want to burden you. I knew what happened to Costia. I didn’t want you to feel helpless again.”

“I already do,” Lexa whispered.

The words landed like a stone in Clarke’s chest. Lexa looked at her for a long moment, her anger tempered by fear and something more vulnerable.

Finally, Lexa stepped closer, resting a hand gently on Clarke’s arm. “We’ll retrieve the girl. We’ll protect her and her brother.”

Clarke nodded. “Okay.”

Lexa let her hand linger on Clarke’s arm for a moment longer, but then slowly withdrew it. The air between them felt heavier now, strained beneath the weight of too many choices and not enough trust.

“I need some time,” Lexa said quietly.

Clarke’s eyes lifted, confusion flickering behind them. “Time?”

Lexa stepped back. “This was a lot, Clarke. You kept something enormous from me. You set a political assassination into motion. You’re carrying our child and didn’t tell me until it was already done.”

Clarke’s face crumpled, her lips parting as if to defend herself, but Lexa raised a hand gently. Not in anger, but in tired resignation.

“I’m not saying I don’t love you,” Lexa continued, her voice thick. “But I need space to think. To process all of this. And for the health of the baby… I think you should return to Skaikru for a while. Stay where Abby can monitor you closely.”

Clarke stared at her, stunned. “You’re sending me away?”

Lexa shook her head. “I’m asking you to go somewhere safe. Somewhere you can rest, and the baby can grow without the pressure of what just happened. Polis is a storm right now. I need to calm it before you’re in the middle of it again.”

Clarke looked away, swallowing hard as her eyes stung. “It feels like you’re punishing me.”

“I’m trying to protect you,” Lexa said softly. “And our child. This isn’t forever. But right now, I can’t give you what you need while I’m still trying to make peace with what you did.”

Clarke nodded slowly, jaw clenched as a tear slipped down her cheek. “When do I leave?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Lexa said. “I’ll have the rover ready. Indra will go with you.”

Clarke didn’t respond right away. She just stood there, arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold together everything that was unraveling. Eventually, she nodded again.

“Okay.”

Lexa didn’t reach for her this time. She only looked at her, long and aching, before turning and walking out of the room.

Chapter 28: Twenty Eight

Clarke stood in the threshold of her old room, heart thudding in her chest. It had been over a year since she’d spent more than a night in Arkadia, longer since she’d actually lived here. Her eyes scanned the familiar walls, the fading hand-painted mural her father had made with her when she was a child still decorating the far corner. The colors had dulled, worn thin by time and disuse, but the memories clung tightly to the walls like ivy.

Dropping her bag by the bed, she walked to the shelf above her desk, fingertips brushing across a row of small wooden carvings. She remembered these well. Her father had carved each one during the long years on the Ark, passing time while teaching her patience. A wolf. A star. A mountain. A tiny ark ship. She picked one up, the mountain, and sat on the edge of the bed, eyes tracing the fine notches.

Her fingers curled around the figure as she inhaled, deep and slow.

She was home. For now.

Later that morning, Clarke made her way to the medical bay, where the familiar scent of antiseptic and herbs welcomed her more than any words could. Her mother was speaking with a young medic-in-training, guiding her through basic suturing techniques. When Abby saw Clarke, her face softened, and she waved her over.

“Feel like putting on a coat again?” Abby asked, already reaching for a spare.

Clarke smiled faintly. “If you’ll let me.”

Within the hour, Clarke was back in her element, assisting with small injuries. Splints, cuts, fevers and offering calming words to frightened children who came in clutching scraped knees and bruised elbows. It felt grounding. Necessary. The world might be in chaos, she might be pregnant with a child whose existence still felt abstract, but here, in the med bay, she could help.

One patient, a teenage boy who had dislocated his shoulder during a training exercise, looked up at her with wide eyes.

“Are you really the wife of the Commander?” he asked through gritted teeth as she prepped a sling.

“I’m a lot of things,” Clarke replied with a soft smile, “but right now I’m just the person helping you not move this arm.”

That earned a chuckle.

Then the doors burst open.

A guard stumbled in, blood on his arms, panting. “Incoming. Mining accident. Two injured, one critical!”

Clarke snapped to attention as Abby threw on gloves and barked orders. “Med kit three, saline, and prep bay two. Now.”

Seconds later, a stretcher was wheeled in, a young man groaning in pain, his right leg mangled and bleeding through a temporary tourniquet. A second man followed, walking but holding a bandaged arm soaked in red. Clarke moved instinctively, slipping gloves on as Abby assessed the situation.

“I’ve got the leg,” Clarke said, moving to the side of the gurney. The boy’s skin was pale, clammy. She immediately adjusted the IV and started scanning for signs of internal bleeding. “BP’s low. He’s going into shock.”

Abby met her eyes. “He needs surgery. We have to stabilize him first.”

“Pulse is thready. 60 over 40 and dropping.” Clarke tightened the IV line, checking the monitor again.

The young medic hesitated nearby. “What can I—”

“Get more gauze and epinephrine, now,” Clarke ordered, her voice clear and firm.

As the boy’s breathing grew shallower, Clarke gently leaned over him. “Stay with me. You’re not going anywhere.”

With practiced precision, Clarke worked beside her mother to stem the bleeding, applying pressure while Abby assessed the extent of the tissue damage. The room moved in a blur, urgency and muscle memory guiding every motion.

Finally, the bleeding slowed, and Clarke exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Abby nodded at her. “We’re stable for now. Let’s get him to surgery.”

Together, they moved the patient out, leaving behind the smell of blood and adrenaline. The second man with the wounded arm had already been treated by another medic and was resting quietly.

Back in the main med bay, Clarke peeled off her gloves with trembling fingers. Her heart pounded, not from fear, but the rush of purpose. The satisfaction of helping someone survive, even if only just.

Abby approached, a gentle hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “You were incredible in there.”

Clarke gave a soft, tired smile. “It felt good to be useful again.”

—

After cleaning up and changing out of her blood-stained shirt, Clarke stepped out of the med bay and into the cool late-afternoon light. The adrenaline from the emergency still coursed faintly through her, but the stillness of Arkadia’s courtyard helped her come down. She tugged her jacket tighter around her.

She headed toward engineering, knowing exactly where to find them. Raven rarely strayed far from the garage, and Harper had been helping her for weeks now, acting as both assistant and a buffer when Raven got too deep in her head. Octavia had stayed back in Polis to handle some matters for Lexa and Clarke’s absence, so it was nice to know not everyone had scattered.

Sure enough, the clang of metal on metal echoed out before Clarke reached the hangar. Inside, Raven was crouched beside a half-dismantled rover, grease up to her elbows, while Harper sat cross-legged on a workbench nearby, holding a small circuit board in her lap.

Raven looked up first, blinking through the grime. “Look what the wind blew in,” she said, standing and wiping her hands on a rag. “You alright?”

Clarke nodded, stepping into the light and offering a tired smile. “Minor concussion. Abby cleared me.”

Harper grinned as she hopped down. “And the little bean?”

“Still kicking,” Clarke said.

Harper immediately wrapped her in a hug, her warmth and ease softening some of the tension Clarke hadn’t realized she was still carrying.

“God, it’s so good to see you,” Harper murmured. “We’ve missed you around here.”

Raven gave her a once-over. “Yeah, well, someone had to play ambassador to the clans and be all mysterious about everything. You look like you’ve seen some stuff.”

Clarke chuckled, the sound low and genuine. “You have no idea.”

They moved toward the corner of the garage where a small couch and two chairs had been set up beneath a stack of dusty blueprints. Clarke sank into the cushions gratefully while Harper handed her a cup of tea she’d brewed earlier. Raven perched on the arm of the chair across from her.

“So,” Raven began, “do we get the story now? You left here with barely a goodbye and showed up in Azgeda of all places.”

Clarke sighed and took a sip. “It was diplomatic. Roan invited me. I brought Octavia and Bellamy, negotiated some trade routes, helped reestablish border protections… nothing too wild.”

Harper raised a brow. “And?”

Clarke hesitated for a beat before smiling. “And I might’ve had a concussion because I got bucked off a horse during a boar hunt.”

Raven blinked. “You what?”

Harper laughed. “That’s the most Grounder thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“I’m blending in,” Clarke deadpanned.

“Right,” Raven smirked. “Well, next time maybe try diplomacy that doesn’t involve blunt force trauma.”

Clarke snorted. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Raven leaned against the workbench, wiping her hands on a rag as she looked Clarke over. “So… have you heard from Lexa?”

Clarke hesitated, fingers wrapping tighter around the mug in her hands. The steam curled up into the space between them, warm but not enough to soothe the sudden tension in her chest.

“Not really,” she said softly. “Just letters. Formal ones. Updates about the Coalition, trade progress, and… security.”

Harper leaned forward from her perch on the table. “So she hasn’t visited at all?”

Clarke shook her head, eyes dropping to her belly. “No. She said it’s not safe. For the baby. For me. No one in Polis knows I’m pregnant. And she wants to keep it that way.”

Raven scoffed under her breath. “Sounds like a lonely way to do things.”

Clarke’s voice was barely above a whisper. “It is.”

There was a beat of silence, only the distant buzz of machinery filling the space.

“I get it,” Clarke added, more firmly. “I put her in a terrible position. I should’ve told her before setting anything into motion in Azgeda. She needed time. She asked for space and I gave it.”

Harper offered her a small smile, trying to ease the heaviness. “You’re doing all this on your own, though. That counts for something.”

Clarke blinked fast, looking away as she rubbed her hand gently over her bump. “I just thought… by now, maybe she’d come. Even just once. I don’t blame her. But it’s hard.”

“She still loves you,” Raven said, voice sure. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you. This isn’t permanent.”

Clarke nodded, not fully convinced but grateful for the reassurance. “I hope you’re right.”

Harper nudged her shoulder gently. “Until then, you’ve got us. You’re not as alone as you think.”

Clarke smiled faintly. It wasn’t everything she wanted, but it helped.

—

The sky outside Clarke’s window had faded to deep violet, the last traces of sun clinging stubbornly to the edges of the Arkadian treetops. The evening air was cooler now, crisp and quiet, broken only by the occasional hum of generators and the distant chatter of guards along the wall.

She sat curled up on the worn couch in her room, wrapped in a thick sweater that once belonged to her father. A single lantern flickered on the table beside her, casting golden light over the letter in her hands. Her name was written across the parchment in Lexa’s sharp, deliberate hand. No seal—Lexa rarely bothered with formality between them anymore. Not when it was just the two of them.

Clarke was ten weeks pregnant now. Her body had already begun to change. Her chest ached, her fatigue clung to her like fog, and a faint swell had begun to show just beneath the soft fabric of her shirt. It wasn’t enough for strangers to notice, but for her, it was undeniable. Real.

She exhaled slowly, her thumb running over the fold once more before she broke the seal and unfolded the page.

Clarke,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. Abby has kept me informed of your general progress, though I admit it feels distant, filtered through the formalities of reports. I wish to hear from you instead. 

How are you feeling? I imagine exhaustion is starting to creep in. Nyko says it usually does around now.

I have not stopped thinking about you. About both of you.

I know I have not been by your side. That is not because I don’t want to be. My absence has never meant distance in my heart. You are still my wife. You are still the person I wake thinking of. Sleep is rare, but when it comes, it’s with you in my thoughts.

I miss you. Please tell me how you are. Even the small things. What you ate for breakfast. What books you’ve read. What strange cravings have begun. I want to know it all.

Yours, Lexa

Clarke read the letter twice. Then again. Her hand trembled slightly as she folded it against her chest and closed her eyes.

It wasn’t a promise of return. Lexa hadn’t said when she might visit or if she’d try. But it was something. A tether. A flicker of warmth on a cold night.

Clarke blinked up at the ceiling, throat tight, and whispered into the quiet room, “I miss you too.”

She rose, tucked the letter safely into her journal.

She pulled her robe tighter around her shoulders as she sat at her desk, the small lamp casting a warm pool of light over the blank page.

She stared at it for a while, the quill in her hand unmoving.

Then, finally, she began to write.

I’m okay. Tired, mostly. My appetite is strange. I hated eggs last week, now I crave them. Abby says everything is progressing well. I’m ten weeks today.

It’s strange doing this without you.

I miss you. I miss how safe I feel when you’re near, how you always know what to say when I can’t breathe. I’m trying to be strong, but I won’t lie, it’s hard.

You asked about cravings? Grapes. Constantly.

I love you. I hope you’re safe.

She folded the letter gently, sealing it with a small piece of wax. Then she held it for a moment longer before setting it aside for delivery in the morning.

Chapter 29: Twenty Nine

Notes:

Mini filler chapter, enjoy!

A couple mornings later, Clarke was woken by the sound of quiet knocking and the creak of her bedroom door opening. Bellamy stepped in with a small smile and a box in his arms.

“This just came in from Polis,” he said, placing it gently at the foot of her bed.

Clarke sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her hair was a mess and the baby was already making her lower back ache, but the moment she saw the familiar seal pressed into the wax of the letter taped to the top, her heart skipped.

Bellamy didn’t linger. He gave her a soft, knowing look and backed out, pulling the door closed behind him.

Clarke peeled the letter off first, recognizing Lexa’s handwriting instantly.

Clarke,

You mentioned grapes, so I had some picked from the eastern vines before they overripe. They say they’re sweeter this late in the season. I hope you like them.

Also, you’ll find a few things inside, some teas I had prepared for sleep and nausea, a wool shawl made by a seamstress in Trikru who swears it will soothe aching shoulders, and a dress I asked her to make for you. I don’t know your exact size now, but she’s gifted with tailoring. It’s soft. I thought you might like it.

Let me know if anything helped.

-L

Clarke felt her chest tighten. Her fingers shook slightly as she opened the box, revealing neat layers beneath the protective linen. There were bundles of deep-purple grapes nestled in a cooling pouch, small jars of herbal blends wrapped in cotton, and beneath it all, the dress. Midnight blue, soft as clouded silk, with a tied waist and room to grow.

She pulled it into her lap, running her fingers over the stitching. It smelled faintly of Polis, of cedar and firewood. Of Lexa.

She smiled down at it, a wave of emotion hitting her hard enough to blur her vision. For the first time in days, she didn’t feel quite so alone.

Clarke was still holding the letter when the door swung open with no warning.

“Ever heard of knocking?” Clarke called, barely turning her head.

Raven strode in anyway, as usual, with all the grace of a hurricane. “Please, like I haven’t seen you in worse.”

She flopped dramatically onto Clarke’s bed, immediately spotting the open box. “Is that from Polis?”

Clarke nodded. “Lexa sent it.”

Raven reached over without hesitation and plucked a grape from the bundle. “Don’t mind if I do,” she said, popping it into her mouth with a pleased hum. “Damn, she has good taste. These are amazing.”

Clarke rolled her eyes affectionately and shifted the dress into her lap. “She said they were from the eastern vines. Apparently they’re sweeter late in the season.”

Raven grabbed another grape. “She’s sending you produce now? That’s love.”

Clarke smiled, folding the letter again and setting it carefully on her nightstand. “She also sent tea, this ridiculously soft dress, and a shawl made by some famous Trikru seamstress.”

Raven raised an eyebrow, chewing slowly. “A dress?”

Clarke held it up for her to see. “Looks comfortable, right?”

Raven tilted her head. “Looks like something you’d actually wear. She knows you well.”

Clarke gave a quiet laugh, then let the dress fall back into her lap.

Raven leaned back, now comfortably sprawled across the bed. “So… have you written her back?”

Clarke nodded. “Last night. I told her about the baby’s progress. About the weird dreams I’ve been having. Asked her what Polis is like these days.”

Raven gave her a look. “And did you tell her you miss her every second of the day?”

Clarke smirked. “No. That was implied.”

Raven chuckled. “You’re both terrible at saying how you feel and somehow still the sappiest people I know.”

Clarke reached over and lightly swatted her leg. “Go steal someone else’s fruit.”

Raven plucked one last grape and grinned. “Too late. I’m invested now. So when’s she coming back?”

Clarke’s smile dimmed just slightly. “She didn’t say. Not yet. She’s trying to keep things safe. For now.”

Raven nodded slowly. “She will. She always does.”

Clarke glanced at the letter again and whispered, almost to herself, “Yeah… I know.”

Raven rolled the last grape between her fingers before popping it into her mouth with a satisfied hum. Clarke leaned back against the headboard, the soft fabric of the new dress folded in her lap, fingers idly smoothing it.

After a few quiet moments, Clarke glanced over. “Hey… have you spoken to Anya lately?”

Raven raised an eyebrow and shifted her weight on the bed, propping herself up on one elbow. “Not since before you left for Azgeda. Why?”

Clarke hesitated. “No reason really. Just wondering how things are going with her. You two seemed… close.”

Raven smirked. “Is this you trying to ask if we’re a thing?”

Clarke gave a small shrug, but her smile betrayed the curiosity. “Maybe.”

Raven leaned her head back against the wall and let out a long breath. “I don’t know what we are. She’s intense. Makes most people nervous, including me sometimes. But she’s smart. She listens. And… she doesn’t treat me like I’m breakable.”

Clarke nodded, thoughtful. “She’s also one of the few people I’ve seen genuinely soften around you.”

Raven chuckled, a quiet, amused sound. “Yeah, well, maybe she just has a weakness for mouthy engineers.”

“You think you’ll see her again soon?” Clarke asked.

“Probably,” Raven said. “She’s been helping coordinate shipments to Arkadia while you’ve been here. Last I heard she’s supposed to come check on some of the repairs to the east sector. Knowing her, she’ll want to see them herself rather than trust the reports.”

Clarke leaned her head against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling. “Let me know when she gets here.”

Raven glanced over. “Planning a double date?”

Clarke snorted. “Just curious. And maybe I want to know if someone else in this damn Coalition is capable of expressing their feelings like a normal person.”

Raven gave her a knowing look. “You and Lexa are doing fine.”

Raven’s eyes flicked to the folded letter Clarke had reached for, and after a long moment of silence, she nodded toward it.

“She talk about the baby?” Raven asked, her voice gentler now.

Clarke’s fingers traced over the edge of the parchment. “Yeah. She asked how I was feeling. Said she misses me.”

Raven smiled faintly. “That’s something.”

Just then, the door creaked open and Octavia stepped in without knocking, her hair windswept and a bit of dirt on her boots.

“Hope this isn’t a girls-only meeting,” she said with a smirk as she shut the door behind her.

Raven scoffed. “It was until you ruined it.”

Octavia rolled her eyes and plopped herself down in the chair near Clarke’s desk, stretching her legs out.

“What’d I miss?” she asked, looking between them.

“Just talking about Lexa,” Raven replied. “And the baby.”

Octavia’s gaze immediately dropped to Clarke’s midsection, and though there wasn’t much of a bump yet, her expression softened.

“How are you feeling today?” she asked.

Clarke smiled faintly, hand resting over her stomach. “Tired. A little queasy this morning, but Abby said that’s normal. I feel better now.”

Octavia nodded, leaning forward with a glint in her eye. “So… do we know if it’s a tiny commander or a tiny doctor yet?”

Clarke chuckled. “It’s too early for that. We’re just keeping an eye on everything for now.”

“And she’s being stubborn about taking it easy,” Raven added, nudging Clarke lightly with her elbow.

Clarke gave her a mock glare. “I’m not doing anything dangerous.”

“You say that like stress doesn’t count,” Raven said.

Octavia watched her closely for a moment. “You really okay, though?”

Clarke’s expression turned serious for a beat. “I miss her. And this whole thing… it’s a lot. But I think we’re getting there. Slowly.”

There was a long pause before Octavia stood up and walked over, reaching out to wrap Clarke in a firm but gentle hug.

“We’re here,” she said. “You don’t have to go through it alone.”

Clarke closed her eyes and leaned into her, grateful for the warmth of both her friends. Raven reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

“For now,” Raven added, grinning, “just focus on growing the next generation of troublemaker.”

Clarke laughed through the lump in her throat. “One thing’s for sure, it’s going to be stubborn.”

—

The summer sun hung low in the sky, casting long golden shadows across the grounds of Arkadia. Clarke sat beneath the old oak tree near the edge of the training fields, her back resting against its wide trunk. A folded blanket lay beneath her and an open sketchpad rested on her bent knees, a small box of graphite pencils and charcoal scattered beside her. The soft chirp of birdsong and the rustling breeze through the tall grass created a rare moment of peace.

She was working on a portrait of Lexa, one from memory, softer than any photo could have captured. No war paint. No armor. Just Lexa in one of her quieter moments, the hint of a smile at the corners of her lips, her hair undone. Clarke didn’t need a reference. That image had been burned into her memory from one stolen morning before everything began to spiral.

She was just beginning to shade the slope of Lexa’s cheek when she heard the crunch of footsteps on the grass.

“Whatcha drawing?” came a small, curious voice.

Clarke looked up in surprise to find a little girl standing a few feet away, her brown hair wild from the wind, a stick clutched tightly in one hand. She couldn’t have been older than six or seven.

“Hi,” Clarke said, brushing some blonde hair from her face. “I’m drawing someone important to me.”

The girl tiptoed closer, peering down at the sketchpad with big brown eyes. “She’s pretty,” she said softly, then added quickly, “I’m Charlotte.”

Clarke offered a warm smile. “Nice to meet you, Charlotte. I’m Clarke.”

Charlotte sat down beside her without hesitation, folding her legs awkwardly. “Are you an artist?”

“Not exactly. I like to draw when I can. Helps me think,” Clarke replied, closing her sketchpad halfway. “Do you like to draw?”

Charlotte nodded. “Sometimes. I drew a big horse yesterday but its head was too small and then it looked like a dog.”

Clarke laughed gently. “That’s alright. You should see how bad I am at drawing horses.”

The girl beamed. “Can I draw with you?”

Clarke reached into her pouch and handed Charlotte a few spare pencils and a blank page from the back of her pad. “Of course.”

For the next few minutes, they drew side by side in silence, save for the occasional hum from Charlotte or the soft scrape of pencil against paper. Clarke glanced over occasionally, watching as Charlotte scribbled out the beginnings of what looked like a sun and a family of stick figures with a flower nearby.

“That’s lovely,” Clarke said, pointing to the flower. “What kind is that?”

Charlotte shrugged. “The kind my mom used to grow. Before she got sick.”

Clarke’s heart tugged. “I’m sorry.”

Charlotte just nodded, eyes focused on the page. “I live with Miss Tali now. She’s nice, but she doesn’t grow flowers.”

“Well,” Clarke said gently, “Maybe one day, you can grow your own.”

Charlotte looked up at her. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

Charlotte smiled, a shy little grin, before going back to her drawing. Clarke watched her for a moment, heart full of something complicated and aching. Then she returned to her sketch of Lexa, though this time, she added something. Small hands tugging at Lexa’s sleeve. An imagined moment. A future she wasn’t ready for, but could finally picture.

Eventually, Charlotte’s caretaker called her name from across the field. The girl stood, brushing off her pants, and handed her drawing to Clarke.

“You can keep it,” she said proudly.

“Thank you,” Clarke replied, folding it gently.

“Bye, Clarke.”

“Bye, Charlotte.”

As the little girl ran off, Clarke looked down at the drawing again. A child’s sun. A flower. A family.

She let the paper rest on her lap, hand drifting to her belly and for the first time in days, she felt calm.

Chapter 30: Thirty

Three months had passed since Clarke returned to Arkadia.

Winter had slowly begun to thaw, and the trees surrounding the compound were dusted with the earliest signs of spring. Clarke stood by the open window of her childhood room, the faint scent of soil and cold air brushing against her cheeks. Her hand instinctively cradled the curve of her belly, no longer something she could hide. She was five months pregnant now, and every week brought new sensations. New kicks. New stretches. New aches.

She hadn’t heard Lexa’s voice in over ten weeks.

Only short, polite letters passed between them now. Updates on trade, coalition stability, and, of course, Clarke’s health. Lexa always asked about that—never failed to. But there was no warmth in her words. No signature. No “ai hod yu in.”

And Clarke didn’t push. Lexa had asked for space, and she was honoring it. Even if it cracked her chest open a little more each day.

A soft knock came at her door.

Monty peeked his head in, a folded paper in hand. “Courier from the north. Arrived about ten minutes ago. It’s for you.”

Clarke took it, the Azgeda wax seal cold beneath her fingers. She unfolded it, heart tightening.

One line.

You’re smarter than I thought. Good job.

Her breath hitched. She let the paper fold itself closed in her hand.

It was done.

She didn’t know the details, when or how. Only that it had been ruled as “illness” and that no suspicion had traced back to her. The kitchen maid and her brother were likely far from Azgeda by now, their part of the deal fulfilled.

Clarke let herself sit on the edge of her bed. For a brief moment, she allowed the wave of emotion to hit her. Not triumph. Not regret. Just the solemn relief of justice served in shadows.

She folded the letter carefully, slid it into a pouch at her desk, and stood. She had another appointment today, with her mother in the medical wing.

The walk through Arkadia was calming, familiar. The buildings hadn’t changed much since she left, though she felt different in all of them now. People nodded at her, some even smiled, eyes occasionally glancing down to the round swell beneath her coat. Word had quietly spread. The Commander’s wife. Pregnant. Still beloved, still watched.

Inside the med bay, Abby greeted her with a warm but tired smile. Her hands were already gloved.

“You’re right on time,” she said. “Come on, let’s get this little one checked on.”

Clarke eased herself up onto the examination bed, tugging her shirt up and her coat open.

“You’re really showing now,” Abby murmured, rubbing the warmed gel across Clarke’s stomach. “Any more nausea?”

Clarke shook her head. “Gone, thankfully. But everything aches.”

Abby laughed softly. “Welcome to the second trimester.”

She adjusted the monitor as soft, steady thumping filled the air. Clarke’s eyes stung at the sound. Her baby’s heartbeat.

Still strong. Still alive.

As Abby clicked through readings, Clarke stared up at the ceiling and whispered, “The man who killed Dad… he’s dead.”

Abby froze, her gloved hand pausing mid-swipe on the screen. “What?”

“Roan sent a message. He kept his word.”

Abby stared at her for a long time, her face unreadable. “Okay.”

There was no judgment in Abby’s eyes, just concern. But she didn’t press. She knew her daughter too well to think her hands were ever fully clean. Clarke had lived through too much, carried too many burdens.

As Abby continued the scan, she gave Clarke’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Baby’s measuring exactly where we’d expect. You’re doing everything right.”

Clarke smiled faintly, blinking back a wave of emotion. “Even if everything else feels like it’s falling apart?”

“Especially then.”

As the exam wrapped, Clarke cleaned herself off and gathered her things. Before she left, she turned to her mother again. “I still haven’t heard anything real from Lexa. Just updates. Titles. Nothing personal.”

Abby looked at her sympathetically. “Do you want to?”

Clarke’s hand dropped to her belly, rubbing over the spot where she’d just heard her child’s heartbeat.

“Yes. But I understand why I haven’t. I’m respecting what she asked for.”

Abby nodded. “That’s love, too.”

Clarke gave her a grateful smile before heading out. The day was cold but bright. And though her heart ached with distance, her steps were a little lighter.

—

The soft strokes of Clarke’s brush moved steadily across the canvas, muted tones of green and grey forming the silhouette of the Ark’s descent. She had been painting more lately, something to ground her.

A gentle knock came from the door.

Clarke didn’t look up. “Come in.”

Bellamy’s voice followed, low but uncertain. “Clarke… someone’s here to see you.”

She paused mid-stroke, confusion knitting her brows. “Who?”

The door creaked open wider, and Bellamy didn’t answer.

Instead, a quiet set of footsteps crossed the threshold.

Clarke turned her head.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Lexa stood just inside the doorway, silhouetted by the hall’s light. She looked the same and yet not. Her shoulders carried the same strength, but her eyes… her eyes were wide and unguarded. Clarke could see the moment Lexa’s gaze dropped, falling to the gentle swell beneath Clarke’s loose shirt.

A silence stretched between them, taut with weight and unspoken thoughts.

Bellamy stepped back without a word, quietly shutting the door behind him and leaving the two alone.

Clarke stood slowly, still holding the paintbrush in one hand, her fingers slightly smudged with blue.

“Lexa,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Lexa’s lips parted like she might speak, but nothing came at first. Her eyes lingered on Clarke’s middle again before meeting hers.

“You’re showing,” she said softly.

Clarke nodded, her throat thick. “Five and a half months now.”

Lexa took a step forward, hesitant, and Clarke noticed the way her hands flexed slightly at her sides, like she didn’t know if she was allowed to reach out.

Neither of them said anything for a moment. The room felt too small, too full of everything they hadn’t said in months.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Clarke said, voice quieter now. “I thought you needed more time.”

“I did,” Lexa admitted. “But time doesn’t stop things from moving forward.”

Her eyes drifted to the canvas behind Clarke, then back to her face.

“I missed you,” Clarke said suddenly, the words tumbling out before she could catch them. “Even when I knew you were angry. I— I just wanted to do what was right.”

Lexa’s jaw flexed, her gaze dropping again.

“You did what you thought was right. I never doubted that,” she said. “But it still hurt.”

Clarke looked down, her fingers brushing lightly over her belly. “I know.”

Silence lingered again, but this time it didn’t feel as sharp.

Lexa finally stepped forward, slowly, carefully, like crossing a fragile bridge.

“May I?” she asked, her voice barely a breath.

Clarke nodded.

Lexa reached out and placed her hand over the curve of Clarke’s belly. It was warm through the fabric, and after a moment, the faintest kick met her palm.

Lexa’s eyes widened with something unreadable. Shock, joy, fear. Maybe all of it at once.

Clarke smiled through the lump in her throat. “She’s been more active lately.”

Lexa blinked, processing that. “She?”

Clarke nodded. “It’s a girl.”

Lexa’s fingers splayed gently across the bump. “She’s strong.”

Clarke looked at her. “She gets it from you.”

Clarke looked up at Lexa, her voice quiet but full of hope.

“Can I come back with you? To Polis?”

Lexa’s expression faltered. She reached for Clarke’s hand, her thumb brushing gently over her knuckles before she shook her head.

“No,” she said softly. “Not yet.”

Clarke’s face dropped. “You’re still angry.”

Lexa’s eyes shot up. “No. That’s not why.” She stepped closer. “I’m not angry anymore, Clarke. I promise. But the capital still doesn’t know. About the baby. If word got out before we’re ready…” Her hand moved instinctively to Clarke’s belly. “It’s safer for you here. With Abby. Until she’s born.”

Clarke swallowed hard and nodded, but the hurt in her eyes was clear. “I just miss home. I miss you.”

Lexa pulled her into a gentle hug, pressing her lips against Clarke’s temple.

“I miss you too,” she whispered. “But I’ll come here. I’ll visit. A couple days each week, if I can.”

Clarke nodded against her, breathing in the familiar scent of her wife’s cloak. “Okay.”

Lexa leaned back against the wall near the window, her armor set aside, dressed down in simple Polis black. The tension that had clung to her for months seemed to ease, even if just a little, as she watched Clarke pick up her paintbrush again.

Clarke sat cross-legged on the floor, her canvas propped up against the leg of the bed. Her hand moved steadily, blending color along the edge of a figure. Something abstract and soft, the kind of piece Lexa had learned to associate with Clarke when she was deep in her emotions.

“So,” Clarke said without looking up, “are you… staying?”

Lexa nodded. “For a few days,” she said gently. “I’ll speak with Kane and your mother while I’m here. But mostly, I just want to be with you.”

Clarke’s shoulders loosened, a quiet breath escaping her lips.

Lexa stepped closer, then slowly sat beside her, glancing at the half-finished painting. “You’ve been busy.”

“Helps me think.” Clarke paused, then looked over at her. “Did you get them out?”

Lexa met her eyes, knowing exactly who she meant. “Yes. The girl and her brother are in hiding, safe. With people I trust.”

Clarke set her brush down. “Good.” She hesitated, then added, “I know you hated what I did.”

Lexa gave a small shake of her head, her gaze returning to the painting. “I hated that you did it without me.” Then she glanced sideways, her voice lower. “But as angry as I was, Clarke… you did a good job covering your tracks.”

Clarke gave a weak laugh. “You sound surprised.”

Lexa smiled, not denying it. “I’m not. I just wish you didn’t have to become someone who thinks that way.”

Clarke reached over, threading her fingers through Lexa’s. “I became who I needed to be. For our people. For you.”

“How have you been feeling?” she asked, her thumb brushing gently over the fabric of Clarke’s dress.

Clarke hesitated, not because she didn’t know the answer, but because so much of it wasn’t physical.

“Physically, I’m okay. The fatigue comes and goes. The nausea’s finally behind me, thank the stars,” she said with a faint smile. “But emotionally…” She trailed off, shifting slightly to look at Lexa.

Lexa turned her head, their eyes meeting.

“I miss Polis. I miss you,” Clarke admitted. “I hate that I had to be away this long. I know you want it for safety but…” Her voice wavered slightly. “I feel alone. Even with everyone here.”

Lexa’s face fell with quiet guilt.

I was scared. For you. For the child. I didn’t know how to carry all of it.”

“I know,” Clarke said, gently. “And I never blamed you for that.”

Lexa nodded, her hand still resting over Clarke’s middle. “Have you… felt them again today?”

Clarke smiled a little. “Almost all day. Little kicks now. Like she’s reminding me she’s here.”

Lexa looked down, eyes fixed on Clarke’s belly with something close to awe.

“I wish I could’ve been there for more of it,” she whispered.

Lexa stayed quiet for a long moment, her fingers absently tracing a faint circle against the curve of Clarke’s belly. The silence stretched between them, the weight of unspoken truths settling into the soft light of Clarke’s bedroom.

Then Lexa finally spoke again, her voice low and edged with regret.

“I owe you an apology,” she said. “For leaving you here. For barely writing. For acting like I could just set it all aside.” She paused, struggling to meet Clarke’s eyes. “I was angry, yes. But more than that, I was afraid. Afraid of what your actions in Azgeda might cost you. Might cost us. And when I found out about the child… it only made everything feel heavier. I didn’t know how to face it all at once. So I let my fear turn into distance.”

Clarke looked at her for a long beat, her heart aching. Then she reached out and gently took Lexa’s hand in hers.

“I know,” she said softly. “I could feel it in your letters, the space between your words. But I also knew it was never because you didn’t care. I understood why you needed that time. Why you needed me here.” She offered a small smile. “You were protecting me in the only way you knew how. And you were right. I’ve been safe here. My mom’s kept a close eye on everything. Octavia’s checked in constantly. Skaikru might not feel like home sometimes, but it’s been a safe place to wait.”

Lexa exhaled, her shoulders dropping as if a weight had been lifted.

“I should’ve still been there for you,” she said. “Even if just as your wife.”

“You’re here now,” Clarke repeated, giving Lexa’s hand a squeeze. “That’s what matters.”

Lexa nodded slowly and leaned in, pressing her forehead gently to Clarke’s.

“No more distance,” she whispered.

“No more,” Clarke agreed.

Chapter 31: Thirty One

Notes:

I hope you guys enjoyed my 3am upload last night after returning from a night out. No idea why I did that, but i’m sure it benefited some international readers 😭 Anyways, the next few chapters will answer some questions. This is more of a filler.

Clarke stirred for the third time that night, shifting beneath the blankets as a frustrated sigh escaped her. Her lower back ached, her hips throbbed from the uneven support of the mattress, and no position seemed to bring any relief. She turned once more, trying to find a spot that didn’t press awkwardly against her growing belly.

Lexa’s eyes blinked open as she felt the bed shift again. She turned toward Clarke, concern already furrowing her brow.

“You’re awake again,” Lexa murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

Clarke groaned softly. “I can’t get comfortable. Everything hurts.”

Lexa pushed herself up onto one elbow, eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering in through the window. She watched Clarke carefully, guilt settling heavily in her chest.

“Have you been sleeping like this every night?” she asked quietly.

Clarke didn’t answer right away. Then, with a tired glance toward her, she nodded. “Some nights are better than others… but yeah. A lot of them have been like this.”

Lexa closed her eyes for a beat. She thought of all the nights Clarke had spent alone here in Arkadia while she stayed in Polis, consumed by duty, by politics, and by her own stubborn sense of justice. Now Clarke was here, just inches away, and still struggling through discomfort she should never have faced alone.

Without another word, Lexa slid out from under the covers and moved behind Clarke, placing her hands gently on her lower back. She began to massage slow, firm circles into the tight muscles there, her touch tender and patient.

Clarke exhaled a deep breath, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly under the relief of Lexa’s hands.

“That helps,” she murmured, eyes fluttering shut.

“You shouldn’t have had to deal with this alone,” Lexa said quietly, her voice full of guilt.

Clarke shook her head, eyes closed as she leaned into the relief of Lexa’s touch. “You need to stop blaming yourself.”

Lexa stilled.

Clarke’s voice was soft but firm. “You were angry, and you had every right to be. And you were trying to keep me safe. I understand that. I don’t resent you for needing space, Lexa. I really don’t.”

Lexa exhaled slowly, brushing a hand along Clarke’s side before placing a gentle kiss to her shoulder. For a moment, she rested there in silence, pressed against her wife, trying to steady the storm of emotion churning in her chest.

“I’m going to make you some tea,” she said quietly. “Something calming. Maybe it’ll help you sleep.”

Clarke gave a tired nod, her body finally beginning to loosen under Lexa’s care. She watched as Lexa pulled on a robe and padded barefoot toward the door, disappearing into the quiet hallway.

Lexa returned a few minutes later, the door creaking softly as she entered. In her hands, she carried a clay mug, steam curling from the surface of the tea. The subtle scent of herbs filled the room. Calming, earthy, familiar.

Clarke had shifted into a semi-upright position against the headboard, pillows propped behind her back. She looked up when Lexa stepped in, her eyes tired but warm.

Lexa crossed the room silently and handed her the mug, her fingers brushing against Clarke’s. “It’s warm. Drink slowly.”

Clarke gave her a small, grateful smile. “Thank you,” she said softly, bringing the mug to her lips. The tea was slightly bitter, with a hint of mint, and it instantly began to soothe her from the inside out.

Lexa sat beside her on the bed, her posture still alert despite the late hour. Clarke glanced over the rim of her mug and watched her for a moment.

“I really mean it,” Clarke added after a few sips. “You don’t have to carry the guilt for everything. Just being here now, it matters.”

Lexa reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind Clarke’s ear. “I want to do better by you. And by our child.”

Clarke rested her head on Lexa’s shoulder, tea still warm in her hands. “You are.”

Clarke let the empty mug rest on the bedside table and leaned a little more into Lexa’s side. The warmth of her touch against Clarke’s back was grounding, soothing the ache that had settled in her lower spine.

After a moment of quiet, Clarke glanced up at her. “How do you plan on telling people?”

Lexa’s hand slowed for just a second before continuing its gentle circles. She hesitated. “I question whether we tell anyone at all.”

Clarke turned slightly to face her, eyes narrowing with concern. “What do you mean? You can’t hide a child forever, Lexa.”

“I know,” Lexa said quietly. “But it has been a long time since a child was born to a Commander. It changes everything. They are favored. Trained harder. Expected to be more.”

Clarke absorbed her words in silence, understanding the weight behind them. “You don’t want that life for her.”

“I want our child to have a choice,” Lexa said, voice steady but laced with tension. “Not a path already carved by expectation.”

Clarke sat upright, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Then what’s the plan? Me staying in Arkadia forever? That raises its own questions.”

Lexa nodded slightly, her gaze distant. “I know. People will wonder. They already do. You and I have been too closely tied. If the child is born and the truth surfaces later, it could bring instability.”

“I’m not leaving her behind in Arkadia,” Clarke said firmly. “No matter how safe you think she’ll be here, she’s not growing up without me.”

Lexa looked at her then, the firelight catching in her eyes. “I know. And I would never ask you to.”

She reached out and pulled Clarke close again, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head before resuming her slow, steady rubs across her back. “We’ll figure it out. Together. But right now… you need to rest.”

Clarke sighed, letting herself sink back into the comfort of Lexa’s embrace. Her eyes fluttered shut, the weight of the conversation still pressing on her chest, but made lighter by Lexa’s presence.

—

The morning sunlight filtered softly through the window, casting warm beams across the bed. Clarke stirred slowly, one hand instinctively resting on the gentle swell of her stomach. Her other hand reached out, but the space beside her was cold and empty. A quiet sigh escaped her lips as she pushed herself up, the ache in her back still lingering from the night before.

Before she could call out, the door eased open. Lexa stepped in, balancing a tray with fruit, warm bread, and a mug of tea. Her hair was slightly damp and her armor had been traded for more relaxed Polis linens.

“Good morning,” Lexa greeted softly, her eyes warm as she crossed the room.

“You’re up early,” Clarke said, blinking the sleep from her eyes. “Where’ve you been?”

Lexa set the tray on the edge of the bed before leaning down to kiss Clarke’s temple. “I was speaking with Abby.”

Clarke perked up slightly, her brows pulling together in curiosity. “About what?”

Lexa hesitated for only a moment, then offered a small, evasive smile. “I’ll tell you later. Eat first.”

Clarke gave her a suspicious look but didn’t press, at least not yet. She picked up a piece of fruit and took a bite, savoring the sweetness.

Lexa sat beside her, watching her for a few quiet seconds before shifting slightly. “Have you… thought of names?”

Clarke glanced at her in surprise, a small smile tugging at her lips. “A little. I’ve written some down. Nothing has really stuck yet.”

Lexa nodded slowly. “Would you share them with me?”

Clarke reached for her sketchbook on the bedside table, flipping past a few half-finished paintings until she found a page near the back. A list of names, written in her neat, looping handwriting, sat on the page.

“There’s Elara… Kiran… Talia… Ayen. Some are from the Ark, some from the clans,” Clarke said, then pointed near the bottom. “And Madi. I don’t know why I like it. It just feels soft. Safe.”

Lexa’s eyes lingered on that one for a moment longer than the others. “Madi,” she repeated quietly. “It suits something bright.”

Clarke’s smile deepened. “I thought so too.”

Clarke leaned back against the pillows, the half-eaten piece of bread still in her hand. She glanced sideways at Lexa, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, her posture relaxed for once.

“What are your plans for today?” Clarke asked softly, brushing a few strands of hair behind her ear.

Lexa didn’t answer right away. She looked at Clarke, really looked at her, messy hair, flushed cheeks from sleep, one hand resting protectively over her belly. Then she shook her head gently.

“Nothing,” Lexa said simply. “Just be with you.”

Clarke’s chest tightened, emotion swelling behind her ribs. She didn’t speak at first. She just nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips as she reached for Lexa’s hand.

“I’d like that,” Clarke whispered.

Their fingers laced together, warm and steady, and for the first time in a long time, the day ahead felt light.

Clarke watched her for a moment before speaking, her voice soft.

“How’s Polis?”

Lexa looked up, closing the book carefully. “Restless. The council continues to squabble over trade routes and grain distribution. And Roan still tests the edges of his new independence.”

Clarke hummed quietly. “And the Triad? Are the nightbloods working well together?”

Lexa stepped closer, sitting on the couch beside her. “Aden holds them steady. Renn still speaks little in meetings, but when she does, it carries weight. And Thyra—”

Clarke smiled faintly at the name.

“Thyra is brave, but headstrong,” Lexa continued. “She reminds me of you, actually. I caught her trying to sneak into a council meeting she wasn’t invited to last week.”

Clarke chuckled. “That sounds familiar.”

Lexa smiled, then let the amusement fade gently from her face. “Polis misses you. I miss you.”

Clarke glanced down at her belly and rubbed a thumb in slow circles. “I miss it too. Even the arguing council.”

Lexa’s hand reached over, resting lightly on top of Clarke’s. “Soon. Once the baby is here, once it’s safe… we’ll figure it all out.”

—

The courtyard near the Arkadia mess hall has been lit with lanterns and a central fire pit. Music drifts through the air. A soft, rhythmic beat tapped out by Raven on scrap metal. The stars are bright overhead. A few clusters of people laugh and talk quietly, enjoying a rare peaceful evening.

Clarke leads Lexa out into the open, her arm looped loosely through her wife’s. She’s wrapped in a light shawl, and Lexa has changed into something more relaxed. Still armor-lined, but lighter than usual.

They find a seat on a bench near the edge of the firelight.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable here?” Clarke asks quietly, watching the way a few Skaikru guards glance at Lexa with vague uncertainty.

Lexa’s eyes flick around the space, assessing everyone. But then her hand gently closes over Clarke’s.

“I’m exactly where I want to be.”

Clarke smiles faintly, resting her free hand on the swell of her belly. It’s clearly visible now beneath her loose dress.

Harper and Raven wave them over from another log, and Clarke shakes her head, mouthing later. Lexa’s presence is still a careful thing, delicate in its balance. Even among allies. They needed a minute alone.

A younger boy, barely twelve, approaches nervously, holding something small in his hands. Clarke watches him with curiosity until he stops right in front of them and shyly holds out a carved wooden figure.

“It’s for your baby,” he says. “I made it.”

Clarke’s lips part in surprise. It’s a little animal, a fox maybe. Clumsily carved, but charming.

Lexa watches the boy with silent intensity. She sees the tremble in his fingers, the effort behind the gesture. After a moment, she leans forward just slightly.

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “It will be treasured.”

The boy beams before running off. Clarke turns the carving in her hand and lets out a breath of emotion.

“I think that’s the first gift we’ve gotten for them,” she says softly.

Lexa looks at her, her expression warm in a way rarely seen outside these walls. “And it came from Skaikru,” she notes, almost in disbelief.

They lapse into silence for a while, watching the fire. Clarke occasionally rests her head on Lexa’s shoulder. Lexa doesn’t move, just gently runs her fingers along Clarke’s arm as the sound of quiet music continues.

After some time, Monty walks by and offers them two steaming mugs. Clarke thanks him, and Lexa sniffs hers cautiously before taking a slow sip.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Chamomile. With a little honey.”

Lexa raises an eyebrow. “And this… helps?”

Clarke gives her a look. “Yes. And you’ll like it.”

Lexa takes another sip. “It’s tolerable.”

Clarke rolls her eyes with a laugh and leans closer, grateful, more than anything, for the normalcy of the moment.

“Do you think they’ll get to grow up in a world like this?” Clarke asks suddenly, quietly, her gaze flickering down to her stomach.

Lexa doesn’t answer immediately. She finishes her sip, sets her cup aside, and reaches for Clarke’s hand.

“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “But I know we’ll fight like hell to make sure they have the chance.”

Clarke nods, blinking back sudden tears.

Tonight, there’s no Coalition. No councils. No war.

Just firelight, old friends in the distance, and a Commander who has never looked more human.

Chapter 32: Thirty Two

Notes:

My mind is exploding at almost reaching 600 kudos. Thank you guys so much!! Another filler but I hope this answers a few questions you guys have.

Clarke was six months pregnant now, her torso round beneath the soft wrap dress Lexa had brought her from Polis weeks ago. It was late afternoon in Arkadia, and the light filtering through the windows was soft and gold, casting gentle shadows over the med bay floor. She sat on the cot with her legs curled beneath her, absentmindedly stroking her stomach as Lexa sat nearby, reading something Clarke couldn’t quite see.

The room was quiet, save for the hum of distant activity. They had grown used to the silence between them. It wasn’t cold anymore. Just full of the things they didn’t always say.

Clarke finally broke it.

“What have you and my mom been talking about?” she asked gently, eyes fixed on her hands, not Lexa’s face.

Lexa looked up, hesitating just a beat too long. “Options. Contingencies.”

Clarke gave her a look, prompting more.

Lexa sighed and leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. “A way to falsify the records if the child is a Nightblood.”

Clarke’s eyes lifted to hers, brows furrowing.

“We would change the logs in Arkadia’s systems,” Lexa continued. “The child will be born here, and your mother will handle the documentation. If anyone in Polis requests records… she’ll reflect a Skaikru-type.”

Clarke looked away for a long moment, absorbing it. “What about when she’s older?” she said quietly. “What if she’s injured in training? One cut and it’s exposed.”

Lexa nodded slowly. “Then we train her in private. With me. With Anya, if she agrees. No one else.” Her voice was steady, but Clarke heard the weight beneath the words, the worry Lexa carried, the edges of fear.

A silence stretched between them before Clarke’s voice cut through again, softer this time. “What if she wants a chance at the throne?”

Lexa froze, her eyes flicking up, sharp and alert. It was the question they had both quietly avoided.

“I don’t know,” Lexa admitted. “I’ve thought about it. I don’t want that life for her.”

“But it might be her life,” Clarke replied gently.

Lexa opened her mouth, then closed it again.

Clarke reached across the space between them and took her hand. Lexa didn’t resist.

“I understand wanting to protect her. I do too,” Clarke said, her voice steady. “But maybe we don’t get to decide everything. Maybe we just… give her the choice. When she’s older. When she can understand what it means.”

Lexa held her gaze for a long moment. Her thumb brushed over Clarke’s knuckles, slowly.

“You would give her that choice?” she asked quietly.

Clarke nodded. “If it’s safe. If she wants it. I think we owe her that.”

Lexa was silent for a while, her eyes distant. Then she finally gave a slow, quiet nod. “Alright. When the time comes, it’ll be her choice.”

Clarke exhaled, relieved.

The child in her womb shifted, and Clarke smiled faintly, placing her free hand on the movement.

“She’ll be strong,” she said softly.

And in that moment, Clarke felt something settle between them. Not closure, not certainty, but a shared understanding.

Clarke squeezed Lexa’s hand gently, her eyes searching for the truth behind that lingering shadow in Lexa’s gaze.

“Why are you so scared of the council knowing?” Clarke asked softly. “I know it’s not just about paperwork or politics.”

Lexa hesitated, then took a deep breath, her voice low and steady, but heavy with history.

“It’s been a long time since a Commander was  wed,” she said carefully. “There are no written rules against it. No laws that say it can’t be done. But it’s never been done. Not in living memory. Commanders carry a burden no one else does, responsibility for every clan, every life under their protection. The council expects them to be… above all distractions.”

Clarke nodded slowly, absorbing the weight behind Lexa’s words.

“But,” Lexa continued, her eyes darkening. “Decades ago, a Commander who ruled before the Conclave as we know it was married. To ensure their heir would ascend, they ordered the slaughter of an entire class of Nightbloods. The entire generation. They saw them as threats, as rivals to their child’s claim.”

A cold silence settled between them.

Lexa’s voice dropped further, barely above a whisper. “The betrayal tore clans apart. Blood stained the ground, and trust shattered. Since then, the thought of a Commander with heirs… it’s been met with fear, suspicion.”

Clarke’s hand tightened around hers, her heart aching at the brutal truth.

“So that’s why it’s so dangerous for them to know,” Clarke murmured. “Because they’d see the child as a threat. A possible spark to the same violence.”

Lexa nodded, her eyes never leaving Clarke’s. “Exactly. If the council knew, they might try to control the child. Or worse, eliminate that risk before it can grow. We hide it not just to protect the baby… but to protect all of us from old ghosts.”

Clarke exhaled slowly, her mind racing.

“But we’re not bound by the past,” she said quietly. “We have the chance to break that cycle. To raise the child without fear and without bloodshed.”

Lexa’s gaze softened, a faint hope flickering in the depths.

“Maybe,” she said. “But it will take time. And careful steps. We walk a path others feared to even consider.”

Clarke leaned in, resting her forehead against Lexa’s. “Then we walk it together.”

Lexa’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile.

“Together,” she agreed.

—

Later that day, Clarke and Lexa made their way to the Arkadia medical bay in quiet companionship. The halls were familiar, but the air between them carried something new, a tenderness, a shared sense of gravity. Six months in, the pregnancy was no longer just a fact; it was a presence neither of them could ignore.

Abby was waiting for them inside, already prepping the room. She looked up as they entered and smiled. “You made it. Perfect timing.”

Clarke gave a small nod and reached for Lexa’s hand. “She wanted to come today.”

Lexa looked slightly out of place under the fluorescent lighting, her warrior’s bearing at odds with the sterile surroundings. But her grip on Clarke’s hand was firm and sure. “I thought I should see for myself.”

“Good,” Abby said, gesturing to the exam bed. “Go ahead and lie back, Clarke. Let’s check on our girl.”

Clarke eased onto the bed while Abby readied the scanner. Lexa hovered beside her, not quite knowing where to stand until Clarke patted the side of the bed. “Here. Stay close.”

Lexa obeyed, standing just at her side, her eyes darting to the machine.

Abby applied warm gel to Clarke’s belly and began the scan. The image bloomed onto the monitor, grainy at first, then sharpening until the soft curve of a skull and the flutter of movement filled the screen.

“There she is,” Abby murmured. “Heartbeat’s steady. Growth looks exactly where it should be.”

Lexa leaned closer, captivated. Her fingers were still entwined with Clarke’s, but her free hand instinctively hovered near Clarke’s belly, as if to anchor herself.

“She’s gotten bigger,” Clarke said softly.

“She has,” Abby confirmed. “She’s about the size of a small melon right now. Moving around a lot too.”

The baby shifted slightly, and Lexa flinched, barely, but her eyes widened in wonder. “She’s strong.”

“She kicks like a warrior already,” Clarke teased, glancing at her.

Abby chuckled. “That’s true. Everything looks good. Position, placenta, fluid levels. No signs of concern.”

Lexa exhaled, some tension in her shoulders loosening.

Abby handed Clarke a cloth to wipe off the gel. “You’re doing great. We’ll do one more scan closer to the due date, just to check position again, but as of now, everything’s healthy and stable.”

Clarke sat up, adjusting her shirt. “Thank you, Mom.”

Lexa stayed quiet, watching Clarke carefully. Then she spoke, her voice softer than usual. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to see her. To know she’s real.”

Clarke smiled gently. “She is. Very real.”

Abby gave them a moment before stepping out. “I’ll give you two some privacy.”

Lexa sank into the chair next to the bed, her fingers brushing over Clarke’s hand again. “Thank you for letting me be here.”

Clarke turned to her. “You’re her other parent, Lexa. I want you here. Every step of the way.”

They stayed there for a moment, the soft beeping of the monitor fading into the background. Clarke pulled her shirt back down as Lexa stood beside her, still looking at the screen.

“She’s healthy,” Clarke said, her voice low but steady.

Lexa nodded. “Good.”

Clarke glanced over at her. “Not what you expected?”

Lexa looked at her, eyes clear. “Maybe not. But I’m glad I saw it.”

Clarke offered a faint smile as she got to her feet. “I could really go for something that isn’t herbal tea or bland soup.”

Lexa’s lips twitched. “I think we can manage that.”

They walked out side by side, the exam room door shutting quietly behind them.

—

Later that night, the quiet calm of Arkadia had settled over them like a blanket. The corridors were still, the med bay dark but for the soft glow of a lantern on the desk. Clarke lay on the cot, a blanket pulled over her legs, one hand resting on her belly. The room was quiet again, but this silence was different, easier, almost sleepy. She could hear the water running faintly from the adjoining washroom where Lexa had gone to clean up.

Clarke smiled faintly, eyes half-lidded as she stroked the curve of her stomach. “You’ve been quiet tonight,” she murmured to the baby. “Don’t tell me you’re already taking after Lexa.”

She paused, then chuckled to herself. “Or maybe you’re just listening. I can’t wait to meet you. But you have to stay in there a bit longer, okay? We’ve still got some growing to do.”

The water shut off.

Moments later, Lexa padded softly into the room, her hair damp and loose over her shoulders, dressed now in a simple cotton shift. She slowed when she saw Clarke speaking gently to her belly, her voice low and affectionate.

“You do know she can’t hear you, right?” Lexa teased, raising a brow as she approached the cot.

Clarke shot her a look. “She can hear me. Her ears are developed. She even moves more when I talk to her.”

Lexa blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Truly?”

Clarke grinned, amused. “Truly. You’d know that if you attended an appointment before today instead of pretending the fetal doppler is an assassination attempt.”

Lexa narrowed her eyes, clearly unamused by the memory of the machine’s shrill hum. “That device is unnatural.”

Clarke just laughed, and the baby gave a small flutter beneath her hand as if chiming in. She patted her belly. “See? She agrees with me.”

Lexa came to sit beside her, tentative, glancing down at Clarke’s stomach like it might start speaking back. Her voice was quieter now. “What do I say to her?”

Clarke tilted her head, eyes gleaming with affection. “You don’t have to say anything special. Just… talk. Or, if you want a cheat code, you could read to her.”

Lexa blinked. “Read?”

Clarke nodded toward the shelf across the room. “I have a whole collection of books from Arkadia you keep pretending not to like. Pick one.”

Lexa gave her a faintly suspicious look, but rose and moved to the shelf. She scanned the titles with her fingers trailing along the worn spines. After a pause, she pulled one free. A thin, old book, its cover smoothed by time and use.

Clarke raised a brow as Lexa returned. “Cinderella?”

Lexa sat, opening it with cautious reverence. “It’s the first one you read to the children in Tondc. When they were afraid after the fire. You made it sound… safe.”

Clarke’s heart caught for a moment. She hadn’t realized Lexa had remembered that.

Lexa cleared her throat, glanced once more at Clarke’s belly, and then began, voice low and measured, shaped by both dignity and inexperience.

“Once upon a time… there was a kind girl who lived with her cruel stepmother and stepsisters…”

Clarke leaned back against the cot, smiling as the cadence of Lexa’s voice filled the room. The baby kicked, and Clarke reached for Lexa’s free hand, placing it over the spot.

Lexa went still at first, then softened as she felt the movement.

Clarke whispered, “She hears you.”

Lexa didn’t answer right away. But when she did, it was quieter, more sure.

“She is strong,” she murmured. “And she will know stories… from both our worlds.”

Clarke smiled, because for once, the future didn’t feel like something they had to brace against.

Chapter 33: Thirty Three

The light in the Arkadia med bay was golden with the slant of early evening sun. Clarke had just finished resetting a young scout’s dislocated shoulder, wiping sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her shirt. The young man winced as he sat up straighter, cradling his arm, offering her a sheepish, “Thanks, Doc.”

Clarke smiled gently, nodding. “Take it easy with that arm. You’ll be fine in a few days.”

She turned to wash up, the scent of antiseptic clinging to her fingers and the low hum of activity still filling the room behind her. It was routine now. Helping. Healing. Staying busy in ways that distracted her from the emptiness in her bed, from the ache in her chest every time she read one of Lexa’s letters and traced the neat handwriting with her fingers.

She hadn’t realized how deeply she missed the sound of Lexa’s voice. Or her presence. Her steadiness. Her silence.

The thought was still lingering when she turned, and saw her.

Lexa stood just beyond the threshold of the doorway, half in shadow, half in the soft light of day. Her eyes, impossibly green and unblinking, met Clarke’s with a kind of restraint that made her breath hitch. She looked the same, and not. Her braids were tighter, her armor lighter than the last time they saw each other. But her expression, guarded, searching, yearning was achingly familiar.

Clarke stood still, blood roaring in her ears.

Lexa stepped forward first.

“I was told you were here,” she said quietly. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“You didn’t,” Clarke said, finding her voice.

Lexa’s gaze drifted downward, and Clarke felt the weight of it settle on the soft curve of her stomach. At just five months, she had started to show more obviously. Not enough to draw gasps, but enough that her body no longer belonged only to her. Lexa’s eyes lingered there, reverent, as if she were looking at something sacred. Then they flicked back to Clarke’s.

“I’m sorry I didn’t send word ahead,” Lexa said. “I needed to see you.”

Clarke’s heart fluttered. “Is everything okay?”

Lexa nodded. “Better now.”

Clarke took a step forward, needing to be close. But Lexa reached her first, gently cupping Clarke’s cheek and drawing her in. Their foreheads pressed together, and for a moment, neither of them said a word.

“I missed you,” Clarke whispered, eyes closing.

“I missed you too,” Lexa replied, her voice quieter still.

She pulled Clarke into her arms, a hand sliding to the small of her back, the other pressing just above Clarke’s growing belly. It wasn’t even intentional, just instinct. Clarke melted into her, clutching the back of Lexa’s coat like it could hold her together.

When they finally pulled apart, Clarke searched her face. “Why are you here? Not that I’m complaining.”

Lexa gave a slow breath. “It’s time.”

Clarke tilted her head. “For what?”

Lexa’s thumb brushed the edge of Clarke’s hand. “For you to return to Polis.”

Clarke’s breath caught. “Really?”

“We’re preparing the announcement,” Lexa said. “The Coalition will hear it from us. From you. You’ll be returning to Skaikru after, but… the truth can’t stay hidden much longer. They’ll start to notice.”

Clarke stepped back slightly, processing the weight of those words. “Are you sure we’re ready?”

“No,” Lexa admitted. “But I am sure it’s necessary.”

“For the announcement, yes.“

Clarke nodded, thoughtful. “What about you? Will you be staying in Polis after the announcement?”

Lexa paused, her eyes lingering on Clarke’s face. “Yes. After the announcement, I’ll stay in Polis. You’ll go back to Arkadia so Abby can continue to monitor you and the baby closely.”

Clarke’s brows furrowed slightly. “So I won’t stay in Polis after?”

Lexa shook her head gently. “It’s safer for you there. The capital still doesn’t know the full extent of this yet, and tensions are high in some clans. I want you where your mother can look after you. And… where no one is watching your every move.”

Clarke looked down, hand resting on her growing bump. “And after that?”

“I’ll come back,” Lexa said softly. “When your last two months begin, I’ll return to Arkadia. I’ll stay with you, through the birth and after.”

Clarke exhaled slowly, her heart heavy and full all at once. “Promise?”

Lexa reached for her hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “I promise.”

—

The gates of Polis loomed ahead as the rover crested the final hill, the capital bathed in the golden light of early evening. Clarke sat quietly beside Lexa, the ride long and uneventful, but her thoughts had not stopped racing. Her fingers absently brushed over the slight curve of her belly, a reflex she hadn’t realized she’d adopted in the past few weeks.

Lexa sat upright, calm as ever, her eyes fixed ahead, but her hand had found Clarke’s at some point during the ride, lacing their fingers together. She gave Clarke’s hand a gentle squeeze as the rover began to slow.

“We’re home,” she said softly.

Clarke nodded, but her stomach twisted, not from the pregnancy, but from nerves. This wasn’t like returning from a mission or a trip. This time, she was different. She was carrying something the entire Coalition would see as more than just her child, something political. Something powerful. And potentially dangerous.

The rover came to a halt at the base of the tower. The moment the doors opened, a hush fell over the courtyard.

Lexa stepped out first, tall and composed. She offered no speech, no greeting. She simply turned and reached a hand for Clarke.

Clarke took it and stepped out beside her, and the world slowed.

The courtyard was full, guards lining the perimeter, stewards pausing their tasks, even several members of the council loitering by the steps. As Clarke stood straight, her cloak shifting, the growing swell of her stomach became visible.

There were no gasps. No exclamations. Just a thick, buzzing silence as dozens of eyes locked onto her.

Clarke could feel the weight of their stares, some surprised, some curious, and some unreadable. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears, her mouth dry. She hadn’t expected to feel exposed, but she did. Her body no longer just hers, her child now visible to the world.

She instinctively moved her hand over her belly, not hiding it, but shielding it, protectively. The motion was small but firm.

Lexa stepped slightly closer, her arm brushing against Clarke’s as she leaned in.

“With me,” she murmured, her voice low and reassuring.

Clarke glanced at her, then gave a small nod. Together, they started toward the steps of the tower. No one dared speak, but the buzz of unspoken questions lingered in the air.

As they entered the tower, Clarke exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Lexa turned to her, her voice quiet again. “You were brave.”

Clarke managed a shaky smile. “I didn’t feel like it out there.”

“They won’t challenge you,” Lexa said. “They may talk. But they will respect you.”

Clarke looked down at her stomach, still cradling it gently. “It’s not just me I worry about.”

“I know,” Lexa said. “But you’re not alone.”

—

Lexa guided Clarke through the familiar stone corridors of the tower, her steps steady but swift. The guards along the way nodded in deference, but Lexa said nothing, her focus entirely on Clarke. They walked in silence, the flickering wall sconces casting soft shadows around them.

When they reached their chambers, Lexa opened the door and stepped aside, allowing Clarke to enter first. The room hadn’t changed. Warm tones, soft bedding, and the quiet hum of Polis life just beyond the windows. It was both comforting and overwhelming.

Clarke moved to the edge of the bed and sat down slowly, resting a hand on her lower back with a quiet sigh.

“You should rest,” Lexa said gently, stepping in behind her. “You’ve had a long journey.”

Clarke nodded, reaching down to untie her boots. “I’m fine, just… tired from all the stares.”

Lexa crouched in front of her, helping to slide the boots off. “Let them stare. They will grow used to it.”

Clarke looked at her, their eyes meeting. “And the council?”

“I’ll speak to them now,” Lexa said, standing. “They’ve been briefed but not formally addressed. They’ll have questions, and I will have answers.”

Clarke’s brows drew together. “You’ll tell them everything?”

“Only what they need to know,” Lexa replied. “That the pregnancy is mine. That you are protected. And that any threat to you will be considered a threat to the Coalition.”

There was steel in her voice now, the Commander reasserting herself.

Clarke leaned back against the pillows. “Be careful.”

Lexa walked to the door but paused before opening it. She turned back to Clarke, her expression softer now.

“I won’t be long.”

Then she slipped out, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving Clarke alone with her thoughts and the quiet pulse of the city below.

—

The room was tense the moment Lexa entered. The council chamber in Polis was circular, each elder seated along the curved perimeter, banners from each of the twelve clans draped above. The stone walls seemed colder today. As she stepped into the center, all conversation ceased.

Lexa stood tall, draped in her deep green armor with her hands clasped behind her back. She let the silence settle before speaking.

“You’ve all heard the news,” she began evenly. “Clarke carries my child.”

A ripple moved through the council. Murmurs, sharp glances, and a few disbelieving scoffs. It was Antor of Trikru who spoke first, leaning forward on his elbows.

“This has never happened in our time. How do we know the child is truly yours?”

Lexa raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Because I say it is. And because my wife is not a liar.”

“But even if it is,” said Kenna of Sangeda, “what does this mean for the line of succession? What of the other nightbloods? Your child will be born into this world with blood that once meant only one thing: the right to lead. The right to fight for the title. And yet, this child is also yours.”

“A child born into privilege,” added Renn’s mentor, Echo, voice cold. “The last time a commander had a child in the line, he burned down the Nightblood training house. Poisoned the instructors. And executed the children, every last one, so his would ascend uncontested.”

Lexa’s jaw tightened, but she remained still. “That was not me. And this will not be the same.”

“You say that now,” Exho pressed. “But what happens if the child is a nightblood? Do they train with the others? Will they be subject to the same rules, or be protected, favored?”

“My child,” Lexa said, her voice sharper now, “will be raised with the same values I was. Strength. Discipline. Honor. If she has the blood, she will train. She will not be spared the trials.”

“And if she doesn’t win those trials?” Kenna asked. “Will you let that happen?”

Lexa paused. She had asked herself that question a thousand times since learning the truth. Her hands curled slightly behind her back, the only sign of unease.

“She’ll have to accept it. But that decision is not mine to make. Nor is it yours.”

A long silence followed.

“And the Coalition?” Echo continued. “The child of the Commander and a Skaikru lady? There are those who already whisper of imbalance. That Trikru and Skaikru grow too close. That Azgeda is being pushed aside.”

Lexa stepped forward. “Azgeda has its seat. Roan has his title. This child does not change that.”

“You expect us to believe there won’t be influence?” Echo sneered. “You’re not just sleeping with Skaikru now. You’re creating new bloodlines. New loyalties.”

“Would you rather I had kept the child a secret? Would you rather it be born in shadow?” Lexa’s voice rang out. “I am not ashamed of what I have built with Clarke. Nor will I hide the consequences of our unity.”

Antor sat back. “There will be unrest.”

“Let them be restless,” Lexa said, voice like steel. “But hear me now: I will not allow what happened generations ago to happen again. No one will harm the children under our protection. Not mine. Not the nightbloods’. Not anyone’s.”

There was silence again.

After a long pause, Kenna spoke, her voice quieter this time. “Then you must prepare. Because the moment that child is born, the eyes of every clan will be on her.”

“I know,” Lexa said, finally letting some of the tension leave her shoulders. “And I will be ready.”

The silence following Lexa’s firm declaration was interrupted by an older voice Tovek of Delfikru, his tone measured but skeptical.

“And what of Skaikru?” he asked, leaning slightly forward, eyes fixed on Lexa. “You say the child will be raised in our values. But will Skaikru accept our traditions? Our rites? Will Clarke? Or will she insist on reshaping them to suit her people?”

Lexa met his gaze evenly.

“Skaikru has already accepted more than many believed they would,” she replied. “Clarke has bled for this Coalition. She respects our ways. And yes, she will continue to accept tradition, excluding those we have already begun to move forward in changing together.”

That answer stirred another wave of murmurs.

Kenna scoffed slightly. “So the ones convenient for her remain untouched. And the rest are forced upon us.”

“No,” Lexa snapped, her voice slicing clean through the room. “The changes we’ve made were not made for her. They were made for all of us. To prevent bloodshed. To evolve. Do not confuse progression with favoritism.”

Antor stood now, brows drawn. “You speak of unity, Heda, yet this child could become a symbol of division. Born of Skaikru, marked by Nightblood. If she is chosen for the throne, the whispers will only grow louder. Some will refuse to accept her. Others will die just to keep her from the throne, regardless of her skill.”

Lexa stepped forward, voice low but fierce.

“Then we teach them better. We teach them to judge by merit. Not by bloodline. The new process will remain unchanged. No child of mine will ascend by legacy, they will have to earn it like all the others.”

“And if they do earn it?” Vikar asked coldly. “If they win?”

“Then they will lead,” Lexa said simply. 

—

Polis buzzed with midday energy, market stalls humming with conversation and the rhythmic clang of blacksmiths in the distance. While Lexa met with the clan leaders in the tower, Clarke sat idle in their quarters, fingers drumming against the edge of the table.

She stood suddenly, reaching for her satchel and walking toward the door.

“Lincoln!” she called softly from the hallway.

The Trikru warrior appeared a moment later, arms crossed, gaze already skeptical. “Where are you going?”

“To the market,” Clarke said simply, adjusting the strap over her shoulder. “I need fresh inks and salve for the stretch marks I know are coming. And maybe a few other things.”

Lincoln narrowed his eyes. “You know Lexa wouldn’t want you walking through the city alone. Especially now.”

“That’s why I’m not going alone,” Clarke said, giving him a pointed look. “You’re coming with me.”

He didn’t move. “Clarke—”

She cut him off. “Lincoln, how will we ever know what the people think, what they actually feel, if we stay inside guarded rooms and only speak to ambassadors? Lexa may be their Commander, but I’m carrying her child. That child will be born into this world, into this Coalition. I need to understand it.”

His frown deepened. “That’s not your responsibility right now.”

“Maybe not. But I want it to be.”

Lincoln sighed, finally pushing away from the wall. “Stay close. And don’t engage if anyone looks like they might recognize you.”

Clarke smiled slightly and gave a playful salute. “Yes, sir.”

Together, they descended into the city, winding through cobbled streets and clusters of vendors. The sun filtered through canopies stretched overhead, casting colorful patterns on the dirt below. Children ran barefoot between stalls, and old women haggled over dried herbs and fabrics.

Clarke moved through the market like someone who belonged. She stopped at a small booth selling handmade ink and clay pots, exchanging quiet words with the elderly man who ran it. Lincoln watched her carefully from a few steps back, always scanning.

At another stall, Clarke traded a few silver rings for a bundle of dried marula leaves and a pot of thick balm. The woman behind the stall had soft gray eyes and gave Clarke a small nod, then offered her a folded strip of dyed fabric as a gift. Clarke thanked her with a warm smile.

She continued down the row of shops, slowing near a group of younger vendors seated on woven mats. They were arguing in low Trigedasleng, but the moment Clarke paused, they went quiet. One girl, no older than sixteen, gave Clarke a long look before glancing at her rounded stomach.

Clarke nodded politely and stepped past, not missing how the girl’s stare lingered.

Lincoln fell into step beside her again. “Some recognize you,” he murmured under his breath.

“I know,” Clarke said softly. “I could feel it.”

Lincoln exhaled. “We should head back soon.”

Clarke stopped at one final stall tucked near the edge of the market, shaded by a tattered cloth strung between wooden posts. It was quiet here, peaceful compared to the noise and bustle of the rest of the square. Hand-carved toys lined the table in neat rows. Miniature animals, crude figurines, rattles, and a few small painted trinkets. One in particular caught her eye.

A wooden spaceship, its edges rounded from sanding, painted silver with black lines etched carefully along its sides. It was far from perfect, but there was something endearing in the craftsmanship. Clarke picked it up, turning it over in her hand with a smile.

“That one’s his favorite,” a soft voice said.

Clarke looked up to see a young woman, visibly pregnant, sitting behind the stall with her legs tucked beneath her and her hands resting gently over her stomach. Her dark eyes were warm and knowing.

“My husband carved it after a story he heard from his father,” the woman added. “He said when he was little, he saw a ship like that fall from the sky. Thought it was a sign from the stars.”

Clarke smiled, heart tugging slightly. “He might’ve been right.”

She reached into her bag and passed the woman a few silver coins. “It’s beautiful.”

Before the woman could respond, a little girl bounded up beside the stall, her curls bouncing and eyes wide with curiosity. She glanced at Clarke’s stomach, then up at her face.

“Do you have a baby in your belly like my mama?” she asked.

Clarke’s smile softened. “I do.”

The girl giggled, delighted by the answer, and ran back to where a boy, perhaps her brother, waited near a pile of wooden animals.

The woman watched her children fondly before turning back to Clarke, her expression thoughtful.

“A child from the Commander,” she said gently, “is a blessing from the gods.”

Clarke blinked, caught off guard by the words. She hadn’t expected anyone to say something like that, not in the middle of the marketplace. Not so sincerely.

She managed a quiet, “Thank you,” tucking the toy into her bag before nodding politely and turning away.

Lincoln stood a few stalls down, arms crossed, keeping a subtle watch. As Clarke returned to him, he raised an eyebrow in silent question.

Clarke didn’t say much. Just a faint smile, and then they continued on.

—

When they returned to their quarters, the heavy wooden door creaked open to reveal Lexa pacing near the window. She turned immediately at the sound, her eyes sharp and anxious, until they landed on Clarke. Her posture didn’t relax fully, but the tension in her shoulders eased just slightly.

“Where have you been?” Lexa asked, her voice tight.

Clarke brushed a strand of hair from her face, setting the small bag of supplies on the table. “Just browsing some shops. Needed a bit of fresh air.”

Lexa exhaled, a long breath that sounded like it had been held in for far too long. She took a step closer, her brow furrowed. “Are you alright?”

Clarke let out a quiet laugh, not unkind but laced with a hint of amusement. “Yes, Lexa. No one came at me with a knife.”

Lexa didn’t smile. She stepped forward fully now, brushing her hands gently over Clarke’s arms as if to make sure she was really okay, really standing in front of her.

“I didn’t know where you were,” Lexa said quietly. “And this city… not everyone approves of what we’re doing.”

Clarke’s expression softened. “I know. But I was with Lincoln, and I needed to feel a part of this world again, even just for a little while.”

Lexa looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. “Next time, just tell me. Please.”

Clarke reached for her hand. “I will.”

Clarke glanced at Lexa as she moved toward the table, pulling out the small jar of herbal salve she had just purchased. She sat down carefully, her back aching from the extra weight she now carried. As she began to lift her shirt and dip her fingers into the cool ointment, she looked up at Lexa, who was still visibly carrying the weight of the meeting.

“How did the meeting go?” Clarke asked gently, her eyes watching Lexa closely.

Lexa let out a breath through her nose, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall. “As expected,” she muttered. “Some voiced concerns. Others repeated the same arguments. But everything seems fine. For now.”

Clarke nodded as she rubbed the balm along her sides, wincing slightly as she massaged a tender spot. “That sounds… exhausting.”

Lexa shrugged, though the gesture was more tired than indifferent. “Politics usually is.”

There was a beat of silence as Clarke worked in the rest of the ointment. The scent of mint and lavender filled the air. She capped the jar and leaned back with a soft sigh.

“Well,” Clarke said, giving her a tired but warm smile, “thanks for handling it. So I didn’t have to.”

Lexa’s gaze softened as she stepped closer. “I’d rather face the council every day than have you deal with the stress right now.”

Lexa watched Clarke carefully, noticing the subtle tension in her shoulders and the way she leaned to one side as she capped the jar of balm. Her expression shifted with concern.

“How are you feeling?” Lexa asked softly, stepping closer and brushing a stray curl from Clarke’s cheek.

Clarke gave a tired huff, her hand resting instinctively over the curve of her stomach. “Tired. My back hurts. A lot more than it did last week.”

Lexa’s brows pulled together as she nodded, guilt flickering behind her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I should have let you return to Arkadia sooner.”

Clarke shook her head gently. “You didn’t force me to come. And I wanted to be here.”

Still, Lexa reached for her hand and held it carefully. “After a couple more days of rest, I’ll send you back. You’ll be more comfortable there. And I’ll follow soon after… before your seventh month begins.”

Clarke squeezed her hand in return, grateful for her presence, even as she dreaded another temporary goodbye.

Clarke let out a sigh, the kind that carried more weight than she intended. She rubbed her belly absentmindedly, then looked up at Lexa with tired, hopeful eyes.

“Can I just stay here?” she asked softly. “We can have Abby bring the equipment and stay in one of the guest rooms. I’m sure you’re tired of going back and forth.”

Lexa stilled, her jaw tightening slightly. “Clarke…”

“I know,” Clarke interrupted gently. “You’re worried. About the castle, the council, everything. But I miss you, Lexa. I’m pregnant, not fragile. If you’re worried about safety, then have Bellamy come back. Octavia and Lincoln are still here. I’ll be more protected than anyone else in this city.”

Lexa hesitated. She looked at Clarke’s face, the fatigue around her eyes, the subtle plea in her expression. It was the same look she gave before battles, when she was too proud to say she needed help but too smart to ignore it.

Lexa exhaled slowly and nodded. “Alright. I’ll send for your things. And Abby.”

Clarke’s shoulders relaxed immediately, her expression softening with relief. “Thank you.”

Lexa reached forward, resting her palm against Clarke’s cheek with care. “You’ll stay in our room. That way, I’ll be close. If anything happens…”

Clarke leaned into her touch. “Nothing will.”

Lexa didn’t answer right away. She simply nodded again, already running through the logistics in her head, silently committing to keep her safe, at any cost.

Chapter 34: Thirty Four

Summary:

Clarke is overdue and Abby makes a…. suggestion. Clexa baby is here.

Clarke sat on the edge of the exam table, one hand pressed to the small of her back and the other cradling the underside of her massive belly. Her face was flushed, brows drawn into a deep scowl, and there was a distinct glare in her eyes that told both Abby and Lexa she was ready to throttle the next person who told her to just relax.

“She’s healthy,” Abby said gently, checking the chart in her hand. “Everything looks good. Strong heartbeat, steady movement. But… you’re overdue by nearly a week now. If nothing changes in the next couple days, we’ll need to induce.”

Clarke groaned, leaning her head back against the wall. “This baby is never coming out.”

Lexa stood beside her, hand resting comfortingly on her shoulder. Her expression was calm, but her eyes held a hint of worry. “Is there anything we can do to… help move things along?” she asked, glancing to Abby.

Abby nodded. “There are a few things that might help naturally. More walking. Some herbal teas—red raspberry is a common one. Spicy foods—”

“We’ve tried those,” Lexa interjected, already counting them off on her fingers. “Twice.”

Clarke huffed. “That curry nearly killed me.”

Abby hesitated, then cleared her throat. “There’s one more that can be most effective…”

Lexa raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“Sex,” Abby said, matter-of-factly.

The room fell into an almost comedic silence.

Lexa looked down at Clarke, her brow lifting just slightly in response. “You did not suggest that.”

“I knew you wouldn’t agree,” Clarke muttered, managing the faintest smirk despite how miserable she felt.

Lexa sighed, brushing her thumb gently along Clarke’s arm. “Come,” she said quietly, helping Clarke ease off the exam table with a guiding hand. “Thank you, Abby.”

Abby nodded and stepped aside as they moved to the door. “If nothing changes in two days, come see me again. We’ll start discussing induction.”

Clarke didn’t respond, just waddled slowly beside Lexa, her frustration worn plain on her face. As they stepped into the hallway, Lexa gave her a sidelong glance, lips twitching slightly.

“Spicy food wasn’t that bad.”

Clarke gave her a look.

Lexa wisely said nothing else as she gently led her back to their bedroom.

As Lexa helped Clarke through the quiet halls of the tower, one arm securely wrapped around her waist, the silence between them lingered. Soft, comfortable, but charged with unspoken thoughts.

Once the door to their bedroom clicked shut behind them, Lexa turned to her, brushing a hand gently along Clarke’s arm. Her voice was quiet, but curious.

“Why didn’t you suggest it?” she asked.

Clarke sighed and eased down onto the edge of their bed, hand instinctively rubbing her belly. “Because I knew you’d never agree,” she answered, glancing up at Lexa with a tired smile. “You’d be worried. About hurting me. About hurting the baby.”

Lexa opened her mouth as if to protest, then paused, her shoulders sinking slightly. “You’re right,” she admitted, kneeling in front of Clarke so they were eye to eye. “I am worried. I just… I don’t want to cause any harm. Not to either of you.”

Clarke reached out, brushing her fingers gently through Lexa’s hair before resting her hand on her cheek. “I know. It doesn’t have to be anything intense. Honestly, it could just be an orgasm. That alone can help things along.”

Lexa’s brow lifted slightly at that, her head tilting in contemplation. “That simple?”

Clarke chuckled softly. “Nothing about this is simple, but… yeah. In theory.”

Lexa’s eyes narrowed slightly, still hesitant. “But does it have to be… penetrative?”

Clarke gave a tired, amused smile. “Not necessarily. It just needs to be an orgasm. That’s what can trigger the hormones that help induce labor.”

Lexa was quiet again, processing. Clarke gave her hand a small squeeze.

“I wouldn’t suggest anything that could harm the baby. But I also can’t keep doing this, Lexa. I can’t sleep, I can barely walk, and I feel like I’m going to explode. If there’s even a chance this helps…”

Lexa’s eyes darkened slightly, a flicker of desire crossing her features. She leaned in, her lips brushing against Clarke’s ear. “Happy to help.”

Clarke shivered, the heat of Lexa’s breath sending a tingling sensation down her spine. She nodded, her hands trembling as she reached for Lexa’s shoulders. “Please.”

Lexa didn’t need further encouragement. She moved down the bed, positioning herself between Clarke’s legs. Her hands slid up Clarke’s thighs, pushing her dress up and revealing the curve of her belly and the softness of her inner thighs. Lexa’s fingers hooked into the waistband of Clarke’s underwear, pulling them down slowly, letting the fabric drag against her skin.

Clarke’s breath quickened, her chest rising and falling with anticipation. Lexa’s hands spread her thighs wider, exposing her fully. Lexa’s gaze lingered there for a moment, her lips parting as she took in the sight of Clarke’s glistening center.

“You’re so beautiful,” Lexa murmured, her voice low and husky. She leaned in, her tongue darting out to trace a slow, teasing line up Clarke’s slit.

Clarke gasped, her back arching off the bed. The sensation was electric, a jolt of pleasure that shot through her entire body. Lexa’s tongue circled her clit, applying just enough pressure to make Clarke moan. Her hands tangled in the sheets, gripping tightly as Lexa’s mouth worked its magic.

Lexa’s tongue moved faster, her lips closing around Clarke’s clit, sucking gently. Clarke’s hips bucked, desperate for more friction, more pressure, more. Lexa obliged, her fingers slipping inside Clarke, curling just right to hit that spot that made her see stars.

“Oh God, Lexa,” Clarke moaned, her voice trembling. “Don’t stop.”

Lexa didn’t. She kept up the rhythm of her tongue and fingers, driving Clarke closer and closer to the edge. Clarke felt herself tightening, the tension building in her core until it was almost unbearable. And then it broke, a wave of pleasure crashing over her, leaving her gasping and shaking.

But Lexa wasn’t done. Her mouth moved lower, her tongue delving deep into Clarke’s entrance. Clarke cried out, her hands flying to Lexa’s hair, pulling her closer. Lexa’s tongue was relentless, lapping at Clarke’s sensitive flesh, drawing out every last drop of pleasure.

When the second orgasm hit, it was even more intense than the first. Clarke’s entire body convulsed, her thighs clamping around Lexa’s head as she screamed out her release. Lexa held her through it, her fingers still moving inside Clarke, prolonging the ecstasy until Clarke was a writhing, quivering mess.

Lexa finally pulled away, crawling back up the bed to kiss Clarke deeply. Clarke could taste herself on Lexa’s lips, the muskiness of it only adding to her arousal. She kissed back hungrily, her hands roaming over Lexa’s body.

Lexa’s lips lingered on Clarke’s, her breath warm and heavy as they broke apart. Clarke’s hands slid down Lexa’s back, fingers grazing the curve of her spine, before they settled on her hips. She could feel Lexa’s arousal pressing against her, the heat between them undeniable.

“You’ve been so good to me,” Clarke murmured, her voice low and husky. “But now it’s your turn.”

Lexa shook her head, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Clarke, you don’t have to. I’m fine.”

Clarke arched an eyebrow, her fingers dipping into the waistband of Lexa’s pants. “Fine? Really? You’re practically trembling.”

Lexa’s lips parted as if to argue, but Clarke didn’t give her the chance. With firm resolve, she pushed herself upright and knelt on the bed. She moved slowly, deliberately, sliding down Lexa’s body until she was kneeling between her legs.

“Clarke—” Lexa started, but Clarke silenced her with a look, her blue eyes dark with intent.

“Let me take care of you too,” Clarke said, her voice soft but commanding. Her hands slid up Lexa’s thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin just below the hem of her pants. She could feel Lexa’s muscles tense beneath her touch, the subtle shift of her hips betraying her need.

She tugged them down slowly, revealing her erection, already glistening at the tip. Clarke’s gaze dropped immediately, her lips parting as she took in the sight.

She reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing against Lexa’s heated skin. Lexa exhaled sharply at the contact, her hips jerking forward instinctively.

She leaned forward, her lips hovering just above the tip of Lexa’s arousal. Clarke could feel the heat radiating from it, could smell the faint musky scent that made her mouth water. She hesitated for only a moment before wrapping her lips around the head, tasting the salty precum that had gathered there.

Lexa groaned deeply, her hands tangling in Clarke’s hair as she tilted her head back. “Oh, fuck,” she muttered, her voice thick with pleasure.

Clarke hummed in response, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through Lexa’s body. She took more of Lexa into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the shaft as she bobbed her head slowly. Her hand moved to wrap around the base, stroking in time with the rhythm of her mouth.

Lexa’s hips bucked upward, and Clarke let out a muffled sound of surprise as Lexa hit the back of her throat. But instead of pulling away, Clarke relaxed her jaw, allowing Lexa to slide deeper. Her free hand moved to cup Lexa’s balls, rolling them gently in her palm.

“Clarke,” Lexa gasped, her grip tightening in Clarke’s hair. “You feel so good.”

Clarke pulled back slightly, her lips sliding off with a soft pop. She looked up at Lexa through hooded eyes, her tongue darting out to lick the tip. “I’m not done yet,” she said, her voice husky.

She dipped her head again, taking Lexa fully into her mouth once more. This time, she increased the pace, sucking and licking with fervor. Her hand moved faster, her fingers sliding along Lexa’s length in perfect sync with her mouth.

Lexa’s breathing grew erratic, her hips thrusting upward uncontrollably. “I’m close,” she warned, her voice strained.

Clarke responded by tightening her grip and taking Lexa even deeper, her nose brushing against the base. Lexa’s body tensed, and with a guttural cry, she came hard, her release flooding Clarke’s mouth.

Clarke swallowed it all, her throat working eagerly as she continued to stroke Lexa through her orgasm. When Lexa finally stilled, Clarke pulled back, licking her lips and giving Lexa a satisfied smile.

Clarke lay back against the pillows, her breathing still uneven, a sheen of sweat on her forehead and a flush blooming across her cheeks. Lexa was stretched beside her, one hand lightly resting on Clarke’s thigh, her other arm tucked beneath her head as she watched her with soft eyes.

Clarke turned her head toward her, her gaze still hazy but warm. “I miss this,” she whispered. “Not just the release… I miss us like this.”

Lexa’s thumb traced a slow, idle circle on Clarke’s skin. “I know,” she said quietly, her voice full of both longing and affection. “I do too.”

Clarke shifted, reaching for her, and their fingers intertwined between them. “I’ve missed feeling close to you like that,” Clarke added, “Even though I know this stage is temporary. It’s just… hard.”

Lexa leaned forward, brushing a kiss to the corner of Clarke’s mouth. “Once you’re healed,” she murmured, “I promise, we’ll be just as active as before.” She smirked slightly, her tone dipping into something a little more playful. “Maybe even more.”

Clarke let out a tired, amused laugh, her hand squeezing Lexa’s. “Holdingyou to that, Heda.”

“You better,” Lexa replied, drawing the blankets up over them as she settled in beside her wife, her hand resting protectively over Clarke’s belly. “Because I intend to deliver.”

—

Clarke stirred with a sharp inhale, a strange pressure in her abdomen pulling her from sleep. For a moment, she blinked into the dim room, disoriented and heavy with exhaustion. Then she felt it, a sudden warm gush between her legs. Her heart skipped. She stilled, breath caught, hand instinctively reaching for the swell of her belly.

It wasn’t a dream. Her water had just broken.

A slow smile crept to her lips, half from disbelief, half from nervous excitement. She shifted carefully, the dampness beneath her confirming it. “Lexa,” she whispered, turning toward her wife who lay sleeping beside her, one arm curled protectively around her bump.

“Lexa,” Clarke repeated, this time nudging her shoulder gently.

Lexa stirred, groggy. “What is it? Are you—?”

“My water just broke,” Clarke said, her voice quiet but laced with a note of humor. “Guess the tea and everything else worked.”

Lexa blinked once. Then twice. Then sat up far too quickly. “What? Are you sure?”

Clarke lifted an eyebrow and gestured to the now-wet bedding. “Unless I’ve suddenly forgotten how to control my bladder, yeah.”

Lexa pushed the blankets off and swung her legs over the side of the bed, already scanning Clarke from head to toe like she expected the baby to appear then and there. “Alright. Okay. Stay calm,” she said, mostly to herself. “I’ll call for Abby.”

Clarke couldn’t help it, she laughed softly, even as a small cramp curled through her lower belly. “You’re the one panicking.”

Lexa shot her a look as she crossed to the door and opened it swiftly. “Lincoln,” she said, her voice cool but clipped. “Get Abby. Now. Tell her Clarke’s gone into labor.”

Lincoln, ever composed, simply nodded and ran.

Clarke leaned back against the pillows with a breathy exhale, both hands resting on her belly. “Well, kid,” she muttered down to it, “guess you’re finally ready.” Then her eyes flicked to Lexa, who had returned to her side, holding her hand tightly.

Lexa wasn’t smiling, her jaw was tight with concern, but her eyes were soft, full of awe and something fierce underneath. Clarke squeezed her hand. “We’re doing this,” she said.

Lexa nodded, brushing a damp strand of hair from Clarke’s face. “We are.”

Abby arrived swiftly, arms full with neatly packed supplies. Lincoln followed close behind, helping her carry in extra linens, towels, and a portable exam kit. She moved with calm efficiency, her presence instantly grounding the tension in the room. Lexa stood back for a moment, giving her space to work, but her eyes never left Clarke.

“All right, let’s get you situated,” Abby said gently, setting down a folded blanket beside Clarke as she laid out the necessary tools. “How long ago did your water break?”

Clarke sat up more fully, wincing slightly as another cramp rolled through her. “About fifteen minutes. Maybe twenty.”

Abby nodded, pulling on a pair of gloves before checking Clarke’s pulse and placing a hand on her belly to feel the tightness of the contraction. “Any pattern to the contractions yet?”

“They’re still a little scattered,” Clarke admitted. “Maybe seven or eight minutes apart, but getting stronger.”

Lexa stepped closer, reaching out to hold Clarke’s hand again. Her grip was firm but steady.

Abby leaned in to check her cervix with practiced care. Clarke winced but stayed still, breathing through the discomfort. Abby sat back a moment later, eyebrows raised.

“You’re already three centimeters,” she said with a surprised smile. “Looks like your body’s not wasting any time.”

Clarke let out a breath of disbelief, her free hand gripping the bedding. “Great,” she muttered. “Only seven more to go.”

“You’re doing really well,” Abby assured her. “It might still be a while, but things are progressing faster than I expected. Just focus on breathing and staying as relaxed as possible. I’ll be here the whole time.”

Lexa glanced between them. “Is there anything I should be doing?”

Abby offered her a reassuring nod. “Just stay with her. Help her through the contractions. Keep her hydrated if she wants water. And don’t be afraid to rest when you can. It’s going to be a long night.”

Lexa gave a firm nod, immediately settling beside Clarke on the edge of the bed. She brought a cool cloth to dab Clarke’s forehead and brushed a kiss to her temple.

Clarke gave her a tired smile. “Still think we should’ve just waited another week?”

Lexa snorted quietly, resting her hand on Clarke’s belly. “I think you were ready to walk it out yourself.”

Clarke laughed and then gasped as another contraction rolled in. She clutched Lexa’s hand tightly, and Lexa squeezed back, steady and unwavering.

The night had only just begun.

Two hours had passed in a blur of pain, pressure, and hushed whispers. The room was dim, lit only by a few soft lanterns and the glow of early dawn seeping in through the curtains. Clarke was drenched in sweat, her hair clinging to her temples as she clutched Lexa’s hand with every ounce of strength she had left. Her breaths came fast and shallow as Abby kneeled between her legs again, rechecking her progress.

“You’re there,” Abby said calmly, though her eyes were sharp and focused. “Ten centimeters. It’s time.”

Lexa felt Clarke’s grip tighten around her hand and leaned in close. “You’re almost done, Clarke. Just a little more,” she whispered, brushing damp strands of hair off her wife’s face.

Clarke barely managed a nod before the next wave hit her like a tidal force. She bore down, pushing with everything she had while Abby gave clear, steady instructions.

“That’s it. Good, now breathe again, one more big push.”

Clarke cried out, her entire body straining. Lexa held her hand, her heart in her throat as she whispered quiet encouragements and pressed kisses to Clarke’s knuckles.

Minutes stretched into a haze of pain and effort until finally Abby guided the baby into her hands.

But the room didn’t fill with sound.

There was no cry.

Abby’s face was unreadable as she gently but quickly brought the baby to a nearby table, wiping it clean, checking its airway, tapping its back. Clarke’s heart skipped a beat. She’d gone still on the bed, despite the shaking in her limbs.

“Mom?” Clarke’s voice was sharp, fear creeping in instantly. “What’s wrong? Is she breathing? Why isn’t she crying? Mom say something.”

Lexa rose halfway from her seat, caught between staying with Clarke and looking at their child. “What’s happening?” Her voice was low and tense, eyes fixed on Abby.

Abby remained calm, her hands moving with practiced precision as she cleared the newborn’s mouth and nose, continuing to rub gently. “Just give me a second, she’s a little stunned from delivery. That’s all. Let me—”

A high-pitched wail suddenly pierced the quiet.

The sound ripped through the room like lightning and Clarke collapsed back against the bed with a choked sob, tears streaming down her face in relief.

Lexa’s head dropped briefly, her jaw clenching as emotion rushed in. Then she looked back at Clarke, brushing her hair off her forehead again. “She’s okay,” she whispered, more to reassure herself than anyone else.

Abby let out a breath of her own, offering a small, warm smile. “She’s got strong lungs,” she said softly as she wrapped the tiny, now-squirming baby in a clean cloth.

A few moments later, Abby gently placed the baby in Clarke’s arms.

Clarke stared down at the tiny, flushed face that had just entered their world. “Hi,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Hi there.”

Lexa leaned over to see her too, one arm sliding behind Clarke’s back, the other reaching to softly brush the baby’s cheek. She said nothing at first, just stared, like she couldn’t believe she was real.

Then, finally, she whispered, “She’s beautiful.”

Clarke gently shifted the bundled infant in her arms, her eyes glassy as she took in every detail. “Look at her hair,” she whispered, brushing a trembling finger over the baby’s head. “She has a full head of curls already… brown, just like yours.”

Lexa leaned in closer, a quiet laugh slipping from her lips as her fingers joined Clarke’s, trailing lightly through the soft wisps of dark curls. “Strong from the start,” she murmured. “She already looks fierce.”

Abby, who had been quietly checking Clarke’s vitals and monitoring the bleeding, gave a satisfied nod. “You’re doing well,” she said gently, reaching for a fresh cloth to wipe her hands. “No complications, no tearing. You did good, Clarke.”

Clarke looked up at her mother with tired eyes and a grateful smile. “Thanks, Mom.”

Abby leaned down and pressed a kiss to Clarke’s forehead, then one to the crown of the baby’s head. “Congratulations, both of you,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “She’s perfect.”

Lexa glanced up at Abby with a subtle nod of thanks, her eyes still focused on Clarke and the tiny life in her arms.

“I’ll give you some time alone,” Abby added, stepping back and gathering her things. “I’ll be back to check on you both soon. Just call if you need anything.”

As the door shut softly behind her, the room fell into a stillness that was warm and sacred. Clarke looked down at the baby nestled against her chest, feeling her tiny heartbeat, and then looked up at Lexa.

“She’s really here,” she whispered, still in awe.

Lexa nodded, sitting beside her and carefully slipping an arm behind Clarke again. “She is.” Her voice was quiet but certain. “And she’s ours.”

Chapter 35: Thirty Five

Eight weeks had passed, and motherhood had settled into Clarke like muscle memory, fierce, sleepless, and unrelenting. She barely let Madi out of her arms, always watching, always moving before the baby could even cry. No one was trusted, not truly, not with this. Raven was still in Arkadia working on repairs to the water filtration system, and Octavia had been stationed in TonDC for weeks. It was just them here now

The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a hearth in the corner. The fire cracked softly as Madi stirred in the bassinet beside their bed. A second later, a soft whimper cut through the quiet, rising into a plaintive cry.

Clarke, eyes barely open, was already reaching for her robe, her body moving before her mind caught up.

But Lexa stirred too, sitting up with a hand gently on Clarke’s arm. “Let me,” she murmured, her voice low and rough from sleep.

Clarke shook her head, blinking through exhaustion. “She’s hungry,” she whispered. “And unless your boobs suddenly started producing milk—”

Lexa gave her a tired but amused look, then leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “I know. But you don’t need to stand. Stay sitting. I’ll bring her to you.”

Clarke hesitated, still halfway out of bed, but the weight of her body, tight shoulders, aching back, stiff legs, won the argument. She sighed and nodded, settling back against the headboard.

Lexa stood and crossed the room in a few silent strides, lifting Madi with practiced gentleness. The baby’s cries dulled slightly as soon as she was in her mother’s arms. Lexa returned and knelt beside the bed, carefully placing Madi in Clarke’s waiting embrace.

As the baby latched, Clarke exhaled slowly, head tipping back. Lexa stayed close, hand resting on Clarke’s leg, grounding her.

“She doesn’t like anyone else,” Clarke said softly after a moment, her voice thick. “I know I need to let people help, but I can’t—”

Lexa’s thumb traced small circles over her knee. “You’re doing everything right,” she said. “But you don’t have to do everything alone. Even warriors rest between battles.”

Clarke chuckled under her breath. “That was cheesy.”

Lexa grinned, tired but sincere. “Maybe. But it’s true.”

chest, the baby now calm and sleepy. The glow from the fire danced across Clarke’s face, highlighting the deep circles under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders, the subtle winces as she shifted to get more comfortable.

“You need rest,” Lexa said gently. “Real rest. A few hours without waking every time she makes a sound.”

Clarke didn’t look at her. “I’m fine.”

Lexa reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Clarke’s cheek. “You’re strong, but you’re not invincible. Let me hire a nanny. Just someone to help a few hours during the day so you can sleep, eat, breathe.”

Clarke hesitated, her arms tightening protectively around Madi. “I don’t trust anyone here,” she admitted quietly. “I barely even leave her alone with Abby.”

Lexa nodded. She expected that answer. “I understand. But there are a few people I trust. Deeply. Women who supported me long before the Coalition, and still do. They would be honored to help care for Madi.”

Clarke looked down at their daughter, now drifting off. Her thumb stroked the baby’s small hand.

“I’d want to meet them first,” she said, her voice still cautious. “Talk to them. Ask questions.”

“Of course,” Lexa replied, without hesitation. “You can interview them yourself. And if there’s even a hint of uncertainty, we’ll keep looking. No one will come near her unless you’re comfortable.”

Clarke finally looked up at her, eyes tired but grateful. “Thank you.”

Lexa gave a small nod. “You’ve carried so much. Let me carry some of it with you.”

—

Clarke sat in the sunlit sitting room just off their quarters, Madi tucked in a sling across her chest. A pitcher of water and a stack of notes sat on the table beside her, half of them already scribbled with curt evaluations.

Lexa stood nearby, quiet but present, arms loosely folded as the next candidate entered, another tall, overly formal woman in rigid armor who bowed too deeply and addressed Clarke as “Your grace.”

Clarke blinked slowly. “I’m not a queen,” she muttered under her breath.

The woman sat when invited, rigid and nervous. Her answers were clipped, rehearsed. About loyalty to the Commander, discipline, security, and military readiness. She’d raised younger siblings, she said, but her focus seemed more on protection than nurturing.

Clarke thanked her and watched her go, already shaking her head.

“She’d patrol the room with a spear while the baby cried,” Clarke said to Lexa flatly. “Pass.”

One by one, the interviews continued. Some were too young. Some too eager, acting as if being near the child of the Commander was an honor they would die for, which wasn’t the kind of devotion Clarke was looking for. She wanted warmth. Patience. Someone who would hum softly during nap time, not treat Madi like a symbol.

Finally, the last candidate entered.

She was older, her dark braid streaked with gray and her face weathered by time, but kind. Her clothes were simple, the stitching worn but cared for. She bowed respectfully, not reverently, and looked Clarke in the eye.

“I’m Mia,” she said. “I was a healer’s apprentice in my youth, but most of my life I’ve spent raising others’ children. Some noble, some not. All loved.”

Clarke listened quietly as the woman spoke. She talked about rhythm and routine, how she handled teething, how every child needed to be held close when they were upset, not shushed or handed off.

When Clarke asked how she viewed raising the Commander’s child, the woman smiled gently and said, “I see a child. No more, no less. Every baby needs gentleness. Even if they’re born into power.”

Clarke looked down at Madi, now dozing peacefully.

She looked at Lexa.

Lexa gave a small, satisfied nod.

Mia rose with a kind smile and bowed again. “If you’ll have me, I’ll care for her like she was my own.”

Clarke finally allowed herself a breath of relief. “We would like that.”

—

After the final interview, Clarke and Lexa sat with Nia at the low table, Madi nestled between them on a blanket. The sunlight had dimmed to a soft golden glow through the high windows as they worked through expectations. Feeding times, nap schedules, bath routines. Clarke had her own notes in hand, occasionally glancing at Lexa to see if she was missing anything.

“I’d like her to be held when she cries, not left to ‘cry it out,’” Clarke said firmly.

“Of course,” Mia said, her voice warm. “No child should feel abandoned, not in the first years.”

“And she’s already started reacting to sound. Sometimes music soothes her.”

“Then I’ll keep a drum and a lyre near,” Mia replied. “And I can hum to her as I knit.”

They agreed she’d stay in a chamber nearby, close enough to reach them quickly in the night, and that she would take over the evening shift starting tonight so Clarke could finally sleep without one ear open.

Clarke thanked her and stood with Madi in her arms. “You should rest. It’ll be a long night.”

Nia gave a bow and a soft smile to both of them. “It’s a joy to care for her. I’ll be ready.”

Once the door shut gently behind her, Clarke turned to Lexa, finally able to let her guard down. “She’s… perfect. I feel like I can breathe for the first time in weeks.”

Lexa leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed, a quiet smile playing at her lips.

“What?” Clarke asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

Lexa gave a low hum, her expression smug. “She was my nanny. From the time I was six until I entered training full time.”

Clarke blinked. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.” Lexa looked toward the door. “She taught me how to braid, used to tuck dried flowers in my boots before sparring matches. She’s the only person who ever called me ‘sweetling’ without flinching.”

Clarke shook her head with a soft laugh. “You could’ve told me that before the interviews.”

Lexa raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t want to bias your decision.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t fade. “You’re lucky she was the only one I liked.”

—

A couple days later, the door to their chambers creaked open without warning, and Raven’s unmistakable voice rang through. “Alright, where’s my niece? I haven’t walked half the damn woods for nothing.”

Clarke’s head snapped up from where she sat on the couch, Madi nestled against her chest in a soft wrap. Her face lit up instantly. “Raven!”

Raven stepped in, grease still faintly smudged on her cheek and sleeves rolled up like she’d come straight from her last repair job. Her eyes landed on the tiny bundle and softened immediately. “Oh my god, she’s even smaller than I imagined.” She moved closer, her voice dropping to a gentle coo. “Hi there, little Madi-gator. Auntie Raven’s here.”

Clarke laughed, shifting so Raven could ease down beside her. Raven reached out and gently brushed a finger across Madi’s soft cheek. Madi stirred only slightly, her little nose scrunching before settling back down.

“She looks like Lexa,” Raven murmured, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“She does,” Clarke said softly. “But she’s got my stubbornness. Just ask Lexa how labor went.”

Raven huffed a laugh, still mesmerized by the baby. “I’ll bet. How are you doing, though? Really?”

Clarke leaned back a little, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Better now. Exhausted, but… happy. It feels weird to say that out loud after everything.”

“You deserve to be,” Raven said, turning her full attention to Clarke. “Things in Arkadia are calm. Monty and Harper are good. Bellamy’s still babysitting meetings, and Murphy’s being Murphy. But people miss you.”

Clarke nodded slowly. “I miss them too.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment as Madi shifted again. Raven leaned her head against Clarke’s shoulder with a sigh. “So… is it too early to teach her how to hack security locks and fly a dropship?”

Clarke laughed, nudging her gently. “Give her a year. Maybe two.”

Raven stayed quiet for a long moment, gently rubbing a finger along Madi’s tiny fist as Clarke watched her daughter with quiet pride.

Then, casually,’almost too casually, Raven asked, “So… does she have Lexa’s blood type?”

Clarke’s smile faltered.

Her eyes snapped up to meet Raven’s, and in that brief pause, everything unsaid hung thick in the air between them. Clarke shifted slightly, adjusting Madi in her arms, as if the weight of the question added a new layer to her already full chest.

“Yes,” Clarke said finally, her voice low.

Raven looked up, her brow tightening just slightly. “So she’s—”

Clarke cut her off with a quiet nod. “Yeah.”

Raven exhaled, leaning back a little. “Damn.”

“It’s not public,” Clarke added quickly, glancing toward the door out of instinct. “We’ve… taken steps. Abby and I altered the records. Only a handful of people know.”

Raven didn’t respond right away. She just stared at Madi for a moment, her expression unreadable.

Then, finally, she said, “You know that changes everything, right?”

Clarke’s jaw tightened. “We know. That’s why we’re hiding it. She deserves a choice. A childhood. A life without pressure or politics.”

Raven met her eyes again, searching. “And if one day she wants it?”

Clarke looked down at Madi, her fingers brushing her daughter’s soft curls.

“Then we’ll tell her the truth,” she said. “And let her decide what kind of future she wants.”

Raven nodded slowly. “Good. Because if she’s anything like the two of you, she’s gonna make her own path anyway.”

Chapter 36: Thirty Six

Notes:

Hii guys. Sorry it’s been a busy weekend/week. Enjoy this chapter, the next will have a time jump (:

The room was quiet for the first time in weeks.

Outside, the sun had long since set, casting a faint blue hue through the sheer curtains. The soft crackle of the fire was the only sound besides the occasional creak of the floorboards. Madi was asleep in the next room, the new nanny. Clarke had checked in twice, unable to help herself. But now, finally, she was here. With Lexa. Alone.

Clarke leaned against the doorway of their shared room, her hair falling loose around her shoulders. “Do you even remember what silence sounds like?”

Lexa, seated near the fire in a loose tunic, gave her a rare smile. “I missed this part of it.”

Clarke crossed the room slowly, her fingers brushing the top of the chair Lexa sat in before settling in her lap, straddling her. She wrapped her arms around Lexa’s shoulders and let her forehead rest against hers.

“I missed you,” she whispered. “Not just your help, or your presence. You.”

Lexa’s hands gripped her waist gently, grounding her. “I’ve missed you too, Clarke. Every part of you.”

Clarke kissed her, slow and unhurried. Not desperate, but deep, like the quiet rediscovery of something sacred. Her hands cupped Lexa’s face, and Lexa leaned into the touch like a woman starving for it.

Clarke pulled back just long enough to tug Lexa’s shirt over her head, the fabric falling to the floor in a heap. Her hands roamed over Lexa’s toned stomach, tracing the muscles that had softened slightly after the pregnancy but were still undeniably strong. Lexa’s breath caught as Clarke’s fingers dipped lower, grazing the waistband of her pants.

“You’ve been teasing me all day,” Clarke whispered, her voice low and rough.

Lexa chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that sent a shiver down Clarke’s spine. “Maybe I wanted to remind you what you’ve been missing.” Her hands slid under Clarke’s shirt, warm and firm against her skin. “But if I remember correctly, you’re the one who made the rule about no sex until we got a full night’s sleep.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, her fingers already working to undo Lexa’s belt. “That was before I realized how long it would take to get that full night. Eight months, Lexa.“

Lexa’s grin widened as she leaned in, her lips brushing against Clarke’s ear. “Then I guess I’ll have to make up for lost time.”

Clarke didn’t need any more encouragement. She tugged Lexa’s pants down, her hands impatient as she freed her. Lexa was already hard, and Clarke wrapped her fingers around her, stroking slowly, relishing the way Lexa’s breath hitched in response.

“Fuck,” Lexa muttered, her hips bucking slightly into Clarke’s hand. “You’re not playing fair.”

“Who said anything about playing?” Clarke shot back, her voice dripping with mischief. She dropped to her knees without warning, her mouth taking Lexa in one smooth motion. Lexa groaned, her hands tangling in Clarke’s hair as she leaned back against the wall for support. 

Lexa’s hands tightened in Clarke’s hair, her hips instinctively thrusting forward as Clarke’s mouth worked her with a rhythm that was both demanding and tender. The sensations sent sharp, electric waves through Lexa’s body, and she let out a low moan, her head tipping back against the wall. “God, Clarke,” she gasped, her voice strained. “You’re—fuck—“

Clarke hummed in response, the vibration sending another shiver up Lexa’s spine. Her tongue swirled expertly, her lips tight around Lexa as she took her deeper, relishing the way Lexa’s body responded to every movement. Clarke’s hands gripped Lexa’s hips, steadying her as she continued, her own need building with every sound Lexa made.

But Lexa wasn’t about to let Clarke have all the fun. With a growl, she pulled Clarke to her feet, spinning her around and pressing her firmly against the wall. Clarke let out a surprised laugh, but it quickly turned into a moan as Lexa’s hand slid between her legs, finding her clit with expert precision. Her fingers moved in tight, insistent circles, coaxing gasps and whimpers from Clarke’s lips.

“Lexa—” Clarke breathed, her head falling back against the wall as Lexa’s touch set her on fire. Her hips rocked forward, seeking more friction, more pressure, more.

Lexa grinned, her lips brushing against Clarke’s neck. “You were saying something about playing unfair earlier,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing. “Seems like we’re even now.”

Clarke’s only response was a breathless laugh that quickly dissolved into a moan as Lexa’s fingers slipped inside her. She was already wet, soaked, really and Lexa wasted no time setting a relentless pace, her fingers curling just right to make Clarke’s legs tremble.

“Oh God,” Clarke gasped, her hands clutching at Lexa’s shoulders for balance. “Lexa, don’t stop—“

“Not a chance,” Lexa replied, her voice thick with desire. She pressed closer, her body flush against Clarke’s, her mouth finding Clarke’s as they kissed hungrily. Their tongues tangled, their breaths mingling, and for a moment, everything else fell away, the months of exhaustion, the sleepless nights, the endless responsibilities. There was only this: the heat between them, the urgency that had been building for far too long.

Lexa’s fingers moved faster, deeper, pushing Clarke closer and closer to the edge. Clarke’s moans grew louder, more desperate, her body tightening around Lexa’s fingers as pleasure surged through her. “Lexa, I’m—” she started, but the words caught in her throat as the first wave of her orgasm hit her, intense and overwhelming.

Lexa held her through it, her fingers still moving, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until Clarke was trembling in her arms. When Clarke finally came down, her breath ragged and her body still thrumming with aftershocks, Lexa pulled her hand away gently, her fingers glistening.

Clarke tilted her head to look at Lexa, a lazy smile spreading across her face. “You’re insatiable.”

Lexa raised an eyebrow, her own smile wicked. “You’re one to talk.” She stepped back slightly, her hands moving to cup Clarke’s ass as she lifted her effortlessly, pressing her back against the wall. Clarke wrapped her legs around Lexa’s waist instinctively, her heart racing as she felt Lexa line herself up.

Lexa hesitated for just a moment, her eyes locking with Clarke’s. “Are you sure?” she asked softly, though the hunger in her gaze was impossible to miss.

Clarke didn’t hesitate. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

That was all Lexa needed to hear. She pushed into Clarke slowly, inch by excruciating inch, until she was fully sheathed. Both of them groaned in unison, the sensation so intense it bordered on unbearable. For a moment, they stayed like that, reveling in the feel of being connected after so long apart.

And then Lexa began to move.

Her thrusts were slow at first, deep and deliberate, each one drawing a gasp or a moan from Clarke’s lips. But it didn’t take long for the pace to quicken, for the intensity to build until they were both lost in the rhythm of it. Clarke clung to Lexa, her nails digging into her shoulders as Lexa drove into her again and again, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure through her entire body.

“You feel so good,” Lexa whispered against Clarke’s neck, her voice rough with need. “So fucking good.”

“So do you,” Clarke managed to reply, though her words were breathless and fragmented.

Lexa didn’t stop. If anything, she went harder, faster, her hips slamming into Clarke with a force that had them both crying out. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with their moans and the occasional creak of the wall as it bore their weight.

Clarke could feel the pressure building inside her again, coiling tighter and tighter until she thought she might shatter. “Lexa—” she gasped, her voice breaking. “I’m close—“

“Me too,” Lexa replied, her voice strained. “Come with me, Clarke. Let go.”

And then it happened, the world seemed to explode around them as they both came, hard and unrelenting. Lexa buried herself deep inside Clarke, her release filling her as Clarke’s body clenched around hers, milking every last drop of pleasure from them both.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, foreheads pressed together, breathless and trembling. And then Lexa slowly lowered Clarke to the ground.

Clarke’s cheek rested against Lexa’s bare shoulder, her fingers trailing idly along the curve of her arm. The fire had dimmed, casting golden shadows that danced across the room, wrapping them in warmth and quiet.

“I’ve missed this,” Clarke murmured, her voice soft and raw with truth. “Not just the sex. The closeness. You.”

Lexa’s arms tightened around her, brushing her lips against Clarke’s hair. “I’ve missed it too.“

Clarke sighed, nestling closer. “It’s been hard. But… it already feels easier. With Mia here.”

Lexa nodded against her. “It will be. We’ll have time again. For us.”

There was a pause. Clarke went still, fingers slowing as her thoughts seemed to shift.

“Do you think,” she asked quietly, “that Madi will want to fight? For her right?”

Lexa was quiet for a moment, her breath steady. She pulled back just enough to look down at Clarke, meeting her gaze in the flickering light. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But if she’s anything like I was… she’ll want it. And if she wants it, she’ll earn it.”

Clarke’s eyes softened with something like worry. She looked away, pressing her lips to Lexa’s collarbone before whispering, “I’m not sure if that’s what I want for her.”

Lexa’s hand came up to cradle Clarke’s cheek, gently guiding her back until their eyes met again.

“I understand,” Lexa said, her voice quiet, steady. “I do.”

They stayed like that, wrapped around each other in the dark, holding both the comfort of love and the weight of the future in their hands. Neither pushed the conversation further that night. Some answers, they both knew, would only come in time.

—

The room was quiet, bathed in the soft blue glow of the moon filtering through the tall windows. Lexa lay asleep, her breathing steady, one hand resting where Clarke had once been. But Clarke couldn’t sleep. Her mind was too full, of questions, of fears, of love that felt too big for her chest.

She slipped out of bed, tying her robe around her waist as she padded softly down the corridor. The palace was silent at this hour, the stillness only broken by the faint creak of old wood and the distant hush of wind outside the walls.

Clarke eased open the door to the nursery and stepped inside. Madi was curled in her crib, one tiny fist by her cheek, her chest rising and falling in that sweet, rhythmic way only a baby’s could.

Clarke stood there for a moment, just watching. Then she moved forward slowly, gently lifting Madi from the crib and cradling her against her chest. Madi stirred only slightly, warm and soft in her mother’s arms, a small sigh escaping her lips.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Clarke whispered, swaying lightly. “I was thinking about you.”

She lowered herself into the rocking chair by the window, keeping Madi close, her hand cupping the back of her tiny head.

“Everyone’s already talking about what you’ll be. What it means to be the Commander’s daughter. What it means to be mine.” Clarke paused, her voice quiet. “But I don’t want you to carry the weight of that. Not if you don’t want to.”

Madi made a small, sleepy sound, her little fingers twitching against Clarke’s chest.

“You don’t have to follow in anyone’s footsteps. You don’t have to live up to anyone’s legacy. Not mine. Not Lexa’s. You’ll make your own path, whatever that looks like.” Her voice thickened as she pressed a kiss to Madi’s forehead. “And I’ll be right there with you. Always.”

She sat like that for a long while, heart heavy and full, eyes misty as the stars wheeled quietly in the sky outside.

Eventually, she rose and carefully tucked Madi back into her crib, brushing her thumb gently across her daughter’s cheek.

“I love you, little bear,” Clarke murmured, backing away. “No matter what you become.”

She slipped back into the hallway, the door clicking softly shut behind her, and walked toward her own room, heart just a little more at ease.

Chapter 37: Thirty Seven

Notes:

Happy August!! Enjoy some domestic clexa family fluff (:

Polis had changed, grown softer around the edges without losing its strength. The Coalition was more stable now, with reforms Lexa and Clarke had carefully guided taking root. The Triad of leadership had remained intact, a balance of power upheld. And through it all, Madi grew.

Clarke stepped out of the council chamber, the faint echo of debate still ringing in her ears. The meeting had gone long, negotiations about border trade with the newly established outposts taking more time than planned. But it was done for the day. She rubbed the tension from the back of her neck as she walked, the cool stone halls of the tower now so familiar it felt like home.

Guards passed her with nods of respect. Sunlight spilled through high arched windows, casting warm patterns across the floor as she made her way toward the training wing.

The sound of wooden staves clashing against each other drew her in before she turned the corner. Clarke slowed, pausing at the threshold.

Inside, Lexa stood in the center of the mat, hair tied back in a loose braid, one hand behind her back as she deflected strike after strike from the small but determined figure in front of her.

Madi.

The five-year-old was focused, cheeks flushed, dark curls springing loose from her braid as she lunged again. She was quick, faster than most children her age, and far more coordinated. Lexa twirled the staff smoothly in one hand, ducking a wild swing before tapping Madi lightly on the shoulder with the end of it.

“Again,” Lexa instructed, voice even but encouraging.

“I almost got you that time,” Madi huffed, spinning back into position.

“You did,” Lexa agreed, a flicker of pride in her eyes. “But you let your weight carry too far forward. Keep your center.”

Clarke smiled, folding her arms and leaning against the doorway.

“She’s going to knock you on your ass one day,” she called out.

Lexa glanced back with a smirk. “Only if you keep letting her eat chocolate before training.”

Madi turned around and grinned. “Mama said I earned it!”

Clarke stepped into the room. “I said after training, not before.”

Madi shrugged with the exact same brand of mischief Clarke had seen on Raven far too often. “Details.”

Lexa chuckled and handed Madi a water flask. “Take five.”

Madi dropped onto the edge of the mat, drinking deeply before flopping back dramatically like she’d just fought off an army. Clarke sat beside her and brushed a few curls off her forehead, tucking them behind her ear.

“She’s getting strong,” Clarke said, watching as Madi’s chest rose and fell.

“She has the heart of a warrior,” Lexa replied, eyes softening as she looked at their daughter.

“And the stubbornness of her moms,” Madi chimed in without opening her eyes.

Clarke laughed, while Lexa arched an eyebrow.

“She’s not wrong,” Clarke said, nudging her with her knee.

From across the room, a knock at the door signaled a guard. “General Woods and Raven kom Skaikru have returned,” he announced. “They’re in the courtyard.”

Clarke nodded, standing. “We should say hello before the kids take over the halls.”

As if on cue, a distant shriek of laughter echoed from below, Octavia’s two-year-old son, no doubt causing chaos.

Lexa offered her hand to Madi, who took it with a giggle and a bounce.

“Let’s go,” Lexa said. “Before your cousin tries to ride the guard dog.”

“You mean again?” Clarke asked, rolling her eyes.

Together, the three of them headed for the stairs.

They found Octavia near the edge of the courtyard garden, seated on a stone bench beneath the shade of a flowering tree. Her armor was half-unbuckled, hair pulled back messily. But she didn’t seem to mind, her focus was fully on the squirming two-year-old boy in her lap.

“Slow down, Toren,” Octavia laughed, holding onto him as he tried to wriggle free and chase a butterfly. “You’re gonna break your neck before lunch.”

Toren had Lincoln’s sharp brown eyes and a mop of thick black hair. He squealed with laughter as he kicked his feet, swatting in the air with chubby hands.

Raven stood nearby, arms crossed but smiling as she watched. “Okay, I’m gonna need a turn with that chaos goblin before he gets too big to fit on my hip.”

Clarke grinned at the sight. “Careful, you say that now, but the moment he throws mud in your face, it’s over.”

“He gets that from his father,” Octavia quipped, adjusting Toren on her knee. 

Before Clarke could respond, Madi shot forward with a happy shriek. “O!” she called out, launching herself right into Octavia’s lap beside the toddler.

“Whoa!” Octavia steadied them both, laughing. “Hey, firefly.”

“I trained with Mom today!” Madi announced, beaming. “I learned how to shift my weight and not fall when I spin!”

“Did you now?” Octavia brushed a bit of dust off Madi’s tunic. “Did you make her work for it?”

“I almost got her this time,” Madi said proudly.

Octavia raised her brows and looked to Lexa. “Is that true?”

Lexa nodded with mock solemnity. “She was close.”

“That’s my girl,” Octavia said, wrapping an arm around Madi as Toren clumsily reached for her hair. “And don’t you worry, Toren. Give it a few years, and your cousin’s gonna be teaching you how to swing a staff.”

“I’ll show him,” Madi whispered conspiratorially, “but only if he doesn’t eat bugs again.”

Raven snorted. “Gross.”

“He thought it was a berry,” Octavia said with a shrug. “We’re working on it.”

Clarke crouched down beside them, brushing her hand across Madi’s curls. “Did you tell her the other thing?”

“What other thing?” Octavia asked.

Madi leaned in closer, grinning. “I held the staff with one hand and blocked.”

Octavia gasped dramatically. “No way!”

Toren clapped, giggling as he mimicked the move, nearly bonking himself in the face with his own hand. Madi squealed with laughter.

Clarke looked up at Lexa, who was watching it all with a rare softness in her eyes.

As Madi launched into an animated story about her sparring session, Clarke leaned over and gently brushed a few strands of hair from her daughter’s face. “Hey, bug,” she said softly. “Would you mind hanging with Aunt O for a bit?”

Madi blinked up at her. “Why?”

“Just for a little while. Mom and I need to talk.”

Octavia smiled. “You’re asking like I’m not honored.”

Before Madi could answer, Raven stepped in, already scooping the five-year-old up with practiced ease. “Excuse me, I believe this Madi-gator is due for some auntie time,” she said, blowing a raspberry into Madi’s cheek, which made her squeal.

“I am not a gator!” Madi giggled, wrapping her arms around Raven’s neck anyway.

Clarke smiled gratefully and turned to Lexa, nodding toward the corridor. “Walk with me?”

Lexa gave a quick glance back to Madi, then nodded, falling into step beside Clarke as they stepped out into the quieter halls of the castle.

They walked in silence for a moment, their boots soft against the worn stone. Outside, the sky was beginning to shift toward dusk, casting long golden beams through the open windows.

“I’ve been thinking,” Clarke began, her voice quiet, “it’s been a long time since we left Polis… really left. And Madi’s never been anywhere but Arkadia and here.”

Lexa looked over at her, brow gently furrowed. “You want to travel?”

“Just a short trip,” Clarke clarified. “To Boudalankru. Shay said it’s beautiful this time of year. Peaceful. We could take Madi, let her see more of the world she’ll one day help lead.”

Lexa hesitated, slowing her pace. “Clarke, she’s still young. And things are… stable right now. But not immune to change.”

“I know,” Clarke said. “But we can’t keep her inside walls forever. She’s curious. She asks about other clans, about the sea, about the forest markets. Don’t you think it’s time she starts seeing them for herself?”

Lexa exhaled slowly, glancing out one of the arched windows. “It’s not that I don’t want her to see it,” she admitted. “It’s that I want her to stay safe. She is the most valuable thing in this world to me. Other than you of course.”

Clarke smiled softly, reaching out to take her hand. “She’s tough. She’s smart. And she’s got a hell of a lot of us in her. We’ll bring guards, go quietly, just a few days.”

Lexa studied her wife’s face, Clarke’s steady calm, her mother’s heart brimming with hope. After a beat, Lexa gave a short nod. “Alright. We’ll go.”

Clarke’s smile deepened, eyes brightening as she squeezed Lexa’s hand. “You’ll love it. And she will too.”

“Only if we’re back in time for her lessons with Indra,” Lexa added with a faint smirk.

“Deal.”

They paused at the edge of the garden before turning to head back, fingers laced. Behind them, laughter rang through the corridor—Madi’s, high and unburdened, followed by Raven’s cackling tease and the softer murmur of Octavia wrangling Toren.

Clarke glanced over. “It’s a good life,” she said.

Lexa nodded. “It is.”

—

That evening, after dinner, Lexa and Clarke found Madi sprawled on her stomach across a pile of cushions in their sitting room, sketching a lopsided horse with green crayon.

Clarke sat beside her, brushing her fingers through the mess of curls. “Hey, bug,” she said softly, “how would you feel about a little adventure?”

Madi’s eyes lifted curiously. “What kind?”

Lexa crouched beside them. “We were thinking… a trip. Just us. To Boudalankru.”

Madi’s eyes widened. “Really? For how long?”

“Just a few days,” Clarke replied, smiling. “But it’s a real forest. Huge trees. Waterfalls. You’ll love it.”

“And we’ll be with you,” Lexa added gently. “Every step.”

Madi nodded eagerly. “Can I bring my bow?”

Lexa arched an eyebrow. “Only if you don’t shoot any goats again.”

“That was one time!”

Clarke laughed, “It was three.”

The next morning, the castle was buzzing with quiet preparation. Clarke packed spare clothes, Madi’s blanket, and a small box of drawing supplies. Lexa gathered a handful of their guards, just two trusted scouts, enough for safety, not enough for attention. Madi wandered in and out of the room, clutching her stuffed fox and talking to herself in battle plans.

By late afternoon, they were on the road.

The rover rolled smoothly through the thickening trees, the landscape growing lusher the deeper they went. As night fell, Madi eventually curled up in the back seat, her head resting against Clarke’s coat, thumb near her mouth but not quite in it. She was asleep before the stars rose.

They arrived just after dawn.

The air in Boudalankru was thick with dew, the trees towering high and knotted with vines. Ferns stretched waist-high around the small clearing where Shay’s outpost sat nestled in wooden structures and woven canopies. Birds called softly overhead, the early light turning the world gold and green.

Lexa cut the engine and turned to Clarke. “She’s out.”

Clarke nodded, undoing her seatbelt. She leaned into the backseat and gently brushed Madi’s hair off her face. “Hey, bug,” she whispered. “We’re here.”

Madi stirred, eyes fluttering before cracking open. “Are we really in the woods?”

“Really,” Clarke said with a smile. “Come on, let’s go say hi.”

As Clarke lifted Madi out of the backseat, a familiar voice called from across the clearing.

“Well, well,” Shay said, striding toward them with her sleeves rolled and her braid swinging behind her. “Look who finally decided to visit.”

Clarke grinned. “Thought we’d surprise you.”

Shay’s eyes swept over them, lingering on the sleepy child in Clarke’s arms. “And you brought your little warrior.”

Madi blinked blearily, then offered a shy wave from Clarke’s shoulder.

Lexa stepped around the vehicle. “Shay.”

“Heda,” Shay greeted with a smirk and a slight bow. “Took you long enough.”

Lexa huffed quietly. “We came quietly for a reason.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shay said, leading them down the dirt path. “I’ve got your rooms set. Breakfast will be ready soon. Welcome to Boudalankru.”

Clarke looked around at the sprawling trees and the sunlight piercing through the misty leaves. She adjusted Madi against her hip, and exchanged a quiet smile with Lexa.

It already felt like a breath of fresh air.

—

Dinner was held under a broad canopy strung with hanging lanterns that glowed soft orange as the sun dipped below the treetops. A long wooden table stretched across the clearing, already bustling with voices, clinking bowls, and the occasional burst of laughter.

Madi sat further down the table, nestled between a handful of Boudalankru children around her age. One of the girls was showing her how to fold napkins into animals, and Madi was focused with her tongue poking out in concentration. A boy passed her a skewer of grilled meat, and she accepted it with a polite “thank you” before launching into a very serious discussion about tree-climbing.

Clarke smiled as she watched her daughter, wild and curious, fit right in. 

“She’s got your charm,” Shay said, sliding onto the bench beside her, handing Clarke a clay cup. “And Lexa’s quiet intensity. Dangerous combination.”

Clarke snorted. “You’re not wrong.”

Shay nodded toward the group of kids. “She’ll be fine here. Kids don’t care about politics. They just want someone to climb with and chase frogs.”

Clarke looked over again, seeing Madi laughing now, her curls bouncing as she leaned into one of the other girls. “It’s the first time she’s really… been around other kids. Not like this. Not without guards watching.”

Shay leaned back. “That’s what this place is good for. Breathing room.”

Clarke took a sip of her drink and exhaled slowly, tension easing from her shoulders. “I didn’t realize how much we needed this until we got here.”

“And Lexa?” Shay asked, glancing over her shoulder toward where the Commander sat further down, half-listening to a warrior’s story while keeping one eye on Clarke.

“She’s still on edge. But she’s trying,” Clarke said softly. “For us.”

Shay smirked. “She always was stubborn about the people she loves.”

Clarke’s gaze lingered on Madi, who was now showing the other kids how to balance their spoons on their noses. “So is our daughter.”

Shay laughed and lifted her cup. “Then you’re in trouble.”

Clarke tapped hers to it. “Always have been.”

—

The fire crackled in the heart of the village, casting gold and amber light across the circle of faces gathered around it. The night air in Boudalankru was crisp but pleasant, perfumed with woodsmoke, roasted meat, and the faint floral musk of the nearby wild sage fields. Children nestled close to parents, elders wrapped themselves in woven cloaks, and the flicker of flame painted shadows across the faces of warriors and healers alike.

Clarke sat cross-legged on a thick woven mat, Madi nestled comfortably in her lap, her back pressed to Clarke’s chest and her small fingers absently playing with the ties on Clarke’s sleeve. Lexa sat beside them, her posture relaxed but attentive, a cup of warm herbal tea in her hands. She exchanged occasional soft words with Shay, who sat on her other side, her smile bright under the firelight.

An elder woman with a voice like smooth stone stood at the edge of the fire pit, slowly unwrapping the cloth around a carved ceremonial staff. The firelight caught the ivory etchings along its sides, each marking a story passed down through generations of Boudalankru. When she spoke, the group fell into a hush.

“This,” the elder began, her voice carrying with steady strength, “is the story of Toma and the Star Elk—the guardian who lights the night sky and shows the way home to those who are lost.”

Madi’s eyes widened, her small body going still in Clarke’s arms as she leaned forward to listen. Clarke glanced down at her, smiling at the wonder on her daughter’s face.

The elder launched into the tale with practiced rhythm, speaking of Toma, a brave young hunter who became lost in the deep forest chasing an impossible prize. She described the Star Elk, who appeared to those in need and whose antlers shimmered with the same light as the stars above. The story wove lessons of humility, courage, and listening to nature. When the tale ended, the group murmured in appreciation, and several children clapped softly.

Lexa leaned toward Madi and whispered something. Madi turned her head up toward Clarke.

“Can I tell a story too?” she asked, her voice high and hopeful.

Clarke blinked. “You want to tell one?”

Madi nodded fiercely. “The one Nana told me. The one about the sky foxes that lived in the stars.”

The elder, having resumed her seat beside the fire, overheard and smiled warmly. “We would be honored to hear your story, child of the Commander.”

Lexa’s expression softened as she touched Madi’s back gently. “You may.”

Madi scrambled out of Clarke’s lap and stood a little awkwardly at first, blinking into the light and facing the group. Her tiny hands tugged nervously at her tunic before she squared her shoulders.

“Okay,” she began, her voice small but steady. “Once, in the time before the Ark fell, there were foxes made of stardust who ran across the sky every night. They guarded the dreams of sleeping people and chased away nightmares.”

A few of the village children gasped softly. Clarke rested her chin in her hand, watching with a proud, amused smile. Lexa, beside her, watched with calm intensity, as if Madi were already giving a speech to a council.

“One day, one of the foxes fell to Earth and couldn’t find its way home. It was scared and cold, and the other foxes couldn’t see her because she was hidden in the shadow of the moon. But a little girl found her and gave her a place to hide in her bed and shared her food.”

Clarke could almost hear Abby’s voice in the rhythm of the tale, softened, rewritten slightly in Madi’s retelling, but still familiar.

“Because of her kindness, the fox left behind one star from her tail, and it became the first dreamcatcher. That way, even if nightmares come, the girl would never be alone again.”

Madi stopped there, shifting her weight as silence followed. The adults exchanged looks, some with tender smiles, others clearly moved by the odd but beautiful imagery. Then soft applause came from several directions. Shay clapped first, then Lexa, then the elder who had told the earlier story.

Clarke reached out to pull Madi gently back into her lap.

“You did amazing,” she whispered, brushing curls from her daughter’s cheek.

Lexa tucked Madi’s blanket more securely around her, fingers brushing Clarke’s in a quiet, familiar touch.

“Your story will stay with them,” she told Madi softly. “That is how stories become legends.”

Madi beamed, the pride warming her whole body. Soon after, she yawned, finally starting to nod off in Clarke’s arms.

Shay passed them a mug of warm milk with herbs, and Clarke thanked her quietly, helping Madi take a few sips before resting her against her shoulder.

The fire still danced, the village still hummed, but Clarke felt a kind of peace settle into her bones—a rare, deep quiet. As Madi breathed softly against her, Clarke felt Lexa’s arm brush behind her back, hand resting lightly between her shoulders.

“You okay?” Lexa asked.

Clarke nodded. “Better than okay.”

And in the firelight, in the village nestled between old trees and older stories, they watched their daughter fall asleep. Guarded not by stardust foxes, but by the soft strength of family, legacy, and love.

Chapter 38: Thirty Eight

Notes:

Hey guys!! So sorry for disappearing for a little bit. Life has been hectic, but i’m back! Enjoy the chapter (:

The council hall of Boudalankru was built from smooth stone and thick beams of weathered cedar, its windows wide and open to the mountain air. Light poured through the high slats in golden streams, dancing off the polished wooden table that stretched through the center of the room. Around it sat leaders. Chiefs, emissaries, and elders from Boudalankru.

Lexa sat at the head of the table, poised as always, her posture regal but not rigid. She wore no war paint today, but the weight of her authority still clung to her like armor. Beside her sat Clarke, dressed in a soft navy tunic with her hair braided down her back. A stack of parchment rested before her, marked in her careful script and updated with notes from previous negotiations.

The room quieted as Lexa opened the discussion. Her tone was measured but warm, as she thanked Boudalankru’s leaders for their continued support and hospitality. She nodded once to Clarke.

Clarke cleared her throat, fingers brushing the edge of the parchment. “As we continue to build trust across the Coalition, it’s important we foster not only military alliances, but sustainable, mutual partnerships, particularly in education, trade, and medicine.”

There were murmurs of agreement around the room, a few raised brows at the directness of her Skaikru manner, but no objections.

She pressed on, shifting to details about medical supply routes, suggested shared training programs, and a new seed exchange program proposed by Trikru farmers and Boudalankru herbalists. She offered space for the others to speak, ask questions, challenge or contribute—and several did.

Lexa, to the quiet surprise of some in the room, deferred questions about agriculture and schooling to Clarke, listening as her wife fielded them with both logic and empathy.

“You show strength in allowing her voice to carry alongside yours,” one of the elders murmured to Lexa during a lull.

“I do not allow it,” Lexa replied calmly. “She has earned it.”

The meeting continued smoothly, the tone shifting from formal strategy to something more fluid, open. Laughs emerged between points, stories were shared of cross-clan apprenticeships and harvest festivals.

Just as the final discussion began winding down, one of Boudalankru’s younger councilors leaned forward curiously.

“Before we part, Heda,” he said, “there is a matter of curiosity shared by many at this table.”

Lexa’s brow arched faintly. “Speak.”

The man smiled. “We have heard much of your daughter. Some say she carries herself like a warrior already. May we meet her?”

Clarke laughed under her breath, exchanging a look with Lexa. 

Lexa gave a single nod. “If the council wishes, then yes. Clarke?”

Clarke rose, smoothing her tunic. “I’ll go get her.”

She stepped outside the chamber, sunlight immediately warming her face. She found Madi seated on the ground beside Shay, a group of children circled around her. Madi was holding a tiny wooden carving, animatedly explaining something to a curious older boy while Shay watched, amused.

“Madi,” Clarke called softly. “You’ve been requested.”

Madi looked up, bright-eyed. “By who?”

“The council,” Clarke replied. “They want to meet the daughter of the Commander.”

Madi’s eyes went wide with excitement. “Really?” She sprang up, brushing dust from her knees. “Do I have to bow?”

Clarke stifled a grin. “No, baby. Just be yourself.”

When Clarke led her inside, the room quieted again. All eyes turned as Madi entered, confident despite the heavy attention, her curls bouncing as she looked from face to face with open curiosity.

Lexa’s gaze softened.

“Hello,” she said evenly. “My name is Madi. I am five. I know the borders of the Coalition, I train with the sword, and I am learning both Trigedasleng and Skaikru languages.”

Silence, then a few nods of surprise—impressed, if not slightly taken aback. Madi stood straight, hands behind her back, waiting. Her tone was soft but clear, her gaze steady.

One of the Boudalankru elders leaned forward kindly. “Do you enjoy learning the ways of the Coalition?”

Madi nodded once. “Yes. I think it’s important to know who we protect. And why.”

A younger emissary smiled. “Do you think you’ll follow your mother’s path one day?”

Madi glanced between Lexa and Clarke. “I don’t know yet.”

Another councilor, clearly amused, asked, “And what do you like best about being here, in Boudalankru?”

Madi took a moment before answering. “The mountain air and the frogs. Even if one peed on me.”

That answer made a few of them exchange surprised glances, chuckles and murmurs of agreement following.

“She sees more than she says,” Clarke added softly.

Madi glanced up at them, then turned back to the room. “Is that all?”

There was light laughter then, and one of the elders bowed his head slightly. “It is. Thank you, Madi.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, dipping her head in return.

As the meeting officially adjourned, the tension in the room had softened. Several councilors approached to speak to Lexa and Clarke, but a few lingered to speak to Madi—one even handing her a small carved token as thanks for her introduction.

Once the crowd thinned, Madi rejoined her mothers, eyes bright with energy. “Did I do it right?”

“You did it perfectly,” Clarke murmured, pulling her close.

Lexa didn’t say anything at first, but as they stepped into the evening light, she looked down at Madi and said quietly, “You reminded them of something important.”

“What’s that?” Madi asked.

Lexa rested a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “That leadership begins before the title.”

—

The rover rattled softly as it rolled along the uneven ground, the distant horizon stretched wide in pale blues and fading golds. It was early evening; they had left Boudalankru at dawn, and the air still carried the warm scent of smoke from village cookfires they had passed earlier. Inside the rover, Clarke sat with Madi nestled beside her on the bench, while Lexa drove steadily, her gaze fixed forward but her ears tuned to every sound.

Madi kicked her little boots against the seat, restless from hours of travel. She had been unusually quiet since their departure, and Clarke could tell her daughter’s mind was turning. Madi leaned into her side and asked suddenly, “How do we know where we are going? How do you remember all the paths?”

Clarke smiled, brushing a curl out of Madi’s face. “That’s a good question. Your mom is very good at memorizing the land, but people have always made maps to help them too. On the Ark, we used star charts. On the ground, we draw what we see. Rivers, forests, roads, so we can find our way again.”

Madi’s eyes lit with curiosity. “Can I make one?”

Clarke reached into her pack, tugged out a small bundle of supplies: a piece of worn parchment she had taken from Boudalankru, a stub of charcoal wrapped in twine, and a wooden board to press against. She spread them across her lap and shifted so Madi could sit between her knees, the paper propped on the board.

Lexa glanced over at them through the corner of her eye, the faintest curve to her mouth. “A map, ai prisa,” she said, her tone warm but amused. “Just be sure not to lose sight of the road while your head is bent to the page.”

“I won’t,” Madi promised quickly, as if the idea of failing Lexa in this small task were impossible.

Clarke guided her hand to the charcoal. “We’ll start with where we’ve come from. This here—” she made a dot near the bottom corner of the page “—is Boudalankru. We left this morning, so let’s draw the symbol for a village. A circle.”

Madi carefully pressed the charcoal to the page, tongue caught between her teeth in concentration, and made a wobbly circle. “Like that?”

“Perfect,” Clarke murmured, kissing the top of her head. “Now, this road we’re on, it leads east, toward Polis. So we’ll draw a line.” She drew her hand across the page, guiding Madi’s small one with it. “We’ll mark things as we go, so this will become our map.”

For the next hour, Madi became wholly absorbed. Every time they passed something notable, a crooked tree towering taller than the rest, a shallow stream glinting under the fading light, a cluster of tents where traders were camped, Madi insisted they stop so she could record it.

“Another tree, Madi?” Clarke teased gently after the third stop. “There are hundreds already.”

“This one is different,” Madi insisted, frowning at the page. “See how it bends? If I was lost, I would know I came this way if I saw it again.”

Lexa chuckled quietly from the driver’s seat, her voice low. “She has a point.”

Clarke sighed in mock defeat. “Fine. Draw the tree.”

Madi’s little hands smudged charcoal across her cheek as she carefully marked a crooked line on the paper. Clarke watched her, heart swelling. This wasn’t just busywork. It was teaching her daughter how to see the world, really see it, the way leaders and healers and explorers all needed to.

As the light dimmed, they stopped to make camp. Lexa pulled the rover off the road and parked near a small clearing by a brook. The sound of trickling water filled the quiet evening as she unloaded their supplies. Clarke spread a blanket across the ground and set the board on top so Madi could continue her project.

Lexa returned with kindling, crouching to start a fire. Sparks caught quickly under her steady hand, flames curling and popping in the darkening air. “We will rest here for the night. The road to Polis is still two days,” she said, settling beside Clarke once the fire burned bright enough to chase away the chill.

Madi pressed her finished page toward them proudly. “Look! Boudalankru here, the road here, the big tree, the river, the tents, and now this brook.” She pointed to each mark she had made, her face glowing with pride.

Clarke took the paper delicately, studying it as if it were the most valuable parchment she’d ever held. “Goodn job, Madi. You’ve made your first map.”

Lexa leaned closer, studying it with a more critical eye. “It is not exact,” she said, though her voice was gentle. “But it shows care. And that is how maps begin, by paying attention.”

Madi puffed her chest a little, clearly pleased with Lexa’s words. “One day, I’ll make a map of everywhere we go.”

Clarke brushed her thumb across Madi’s smudged cheek, smiling. “And one day, you’ll have maps of your own to give to others.”

Later, as the fire crackled and the stars spread across the black sky, Clarke tucked Madi against her side, the map rolled carefully and tied with twine. Madi fought sleep, still buzzing with excitement, whispering questions into Clarke’s chest.

“Do all leaders make maps?” she asked drowsily.

“Not all,” Clarke said softly. “But the best ones learn to see where they’ve been, and where they’re going.”

Madi blinked up at her with serious eyes. “Then I’ll always make maps.”

Clarke kissed her hair, holding her tighter. “I know you will.”

By the time Madi’s breathing steadied and her little fist relaxed around the charcoal nub she refused to let go of, Lexa had shifted closer, watching them. Her eyes reflected the firelight, soft and unguarded.

“You’ve given her something she can carry always,” Lexa murmured.

Clarke looked down at their daughter, asleep and safe, her first map tied neatly by her side. “So have you,” she whispered back.

Lexa reached across the blanket, lacing her fingers through Clarke’s, and for a long moment, the world around them stilled. The crackle of the fire, the gentle rush of the brook, the steady stars overhead and all that mattered was this: the road they were on, together, and the little girl who was already learning how to walk it.

—

Clarke stirred awake to the faint clink of metal and the soft murmur of voices outside the tent. She rolled onto her side, blinking against the thin light spilling through the canvas. The smell of woodsmoke and steeping herbs drifted in, warm and comforting.

When she finally pushed herself upright and slipped out into the cool morning air, the sight before her made her chest tighten with quiet affection.

Lexa was crouched by the firepit, methodically breaking down the camp with her usual efficiency. Her movements were practiced and sure, tying down bedrolls, securing packs, stowing away gear so it would ride steady in the rover. Madi hovered close at her side, carrying small bundles of twine and trying her best to mimic Lexa’s precision. Every now and then she would glance up for approval, and Lexa would offer a nod or the barest curve of a smile.

Clarke paused, just watching them, her wife and daughter, framed by the morning light and the curling smoke of the fire. This was what peace looked like.

Lexa noticed her at once. “You’re awake.” Her voice was low, even, but softened by something Clarke could only ever describe as fondness. She rose smoothly from where she had been crouched, dusting her hands against her trousers.

Before Clarke could answer, Madi piped up, her tone serious. “We almost finished, Mama. I folded the blanket all by myself.”

Clarke smiled, brushing a hand through her sleep-mussed hair. “I can see that. Looks like you two didn’t even need me.”

“You needed rest,” Lexa said simply, not leaving room for argument. She stepped closer, lifting a small tin cup from the flat stone by the fire. Steam curled up from its surface, carrying the sharp, herbal scent of brewed tea. Lexa extended it toward her. “Drink. It will warm you.”

Clarke accepted it gratefully, her fingers brushing against Lexa’s in the exchange. The tea was still hot, and the first sip slid through her with a soothing heat. “You thought of everything,” she murmured, her lips curving into a small smile.

Lexa’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, unreadable and steady, before she turned back to the fire. “We leave soon. Polis is still far.”

Madi, arms full with the rolled blanket she’d been so determined to fold, stumbled toward Clarke and nearly dropped it into her lap. “Can you check if I did it right?” she asked, eyes wide with the same intensity she’d carried when drawing her map the night before.

Clarke set her tea down on the stone and unfolded the bundle carefully. The blanket was more crooked than straight, the roll uneven, but it was clear Madi had tried hard. Clarke refolded it quickly, showing her the motions. “You did a wonderful job, but here:’watch my hands. Next time, you’ll have it perfect.”

Madi nodded solemnly, like she was being entrusted with the most important duty in the Coalition.

Lexa’s mouth twitched with the faintest smile as she secured the last of their supplies. “She will learn quickly.”

“She always does,” Clarke said softly, her gaze lingering on their daughter before flicking back to her wife.

Lexa dusted her palms together as the last bundle was strapped down inside the rover. Everything was secured, the firepit scattered and covered, their small camp erased as though it had never been. Clarke leaned against the rover’s side panel, the morning sun catching in her hair as she watched Madi clamber into the back seat with the solemn determination of a child on a mission. She carried her little satchel like it contained the wisdom of ages, the rolled map poking awkwardly out of the top.

When Lexa turned back, Clarke was still standing there with her cup cradled loosely in her hands, smiling at the sight. Something about the softness of that expression tugged at Lexa’s chest. She stepped closer, lifting a hand to brush her knuckles along Clarke’s jaw in a rare, tender gesture.

“You are ready?” Lexa asked quietly, though it felt more like a check-in than a question.

Clarke’s lips curved. “As I’ll ever be.”

Before Clarke could take another breath, Lexa bent and kissed her. Slow, grounding, a moment stolen before the journey began again. Clarke leaned into it, her free hand curling lightly at Lexa’s waist, tasting the faint trace of smoke and herbs still clinging to her. It wasn’t hurried, but deliberate, a silent reassurance that no matter how far they traveled or how much weight sat on their shoulders, they still had this.

Madi’s voice called from the rover, impatient and clear. “Are we going or not? Polis is far!”

Clarke broke the kiss with a soft laugh, forehead resting against Lexa’s for one last heartbeat before she pulled back. “Our commander-in-training has spoken.”

Lexa’s mouth tilted in the faintest smirk, though her eyes stayed gentle. “Then we should not keep her waiting.”

Chapter 39: Thirty Nine

Summary:

Some filler and spice

The gates of Polis rose high against the late afternoon sky, weathered stone and banners shifting with the breeze. The moment the rover rumbled through, Madi was out of her seatbelt before Clarke could finish turning off the engine. She threw open the back door, dark curls bouncing as her boots hit the ground.

“Madi—wait—” Clarke called, but the little girl was already sprinting across the courtyard.

Her target was clear. Aden, taller now at nineteen, broad-shouldered and sharp-eyed, stood near the training yard with a pair of younger warriors. The sunlight caught on the steel of his practice sword as he glanced up, and the grin that broke across his face when he spotted Madi nearly mirrored Lexa’s own rare smiles.

“Madi!” he called, opening his arms just as she barreled into him. He lifted her easily, spinning her once before setting her down.

“I trained with momma Lexa every day in Boudalankru.” she stated with her chin held up in confidence. 

“Every day, huh?” Aden chuckled, retrieving a wooden practice blade from the rack and holding it out to her. “Then show me.”

Clarke sighed with half-hearted exasperation but couldn’t help smiling as she watched her daughter square off against him. Madi’s stance was serious, feet apart, eyes narrowed in concentration as Aden circled her with measured patience. Lexa stood nearby, observing without interfering, her arms folded across her chest, gaze sharp and intent as always.

Clarke, meanwhile, felt a tug at her arm. Raven was there, grease still smudged along her cheek from whatever project she’d been buried in.

“Well, if it isn’t the traveler returned,” Raven teased, pulling Clarke into a fierce hug. “How was Boudalankru? Please tell me Shay didn’t bury you under healer talk the whole time.”

Clarke laughed, tucking stray hair behind her ear. “There was plenty of that, believe me. But it was good. Really good. Madi made friends, we got to see more of their council, Lexa even had me lead some of the discussions.”

“That’s huge,” Raven said, brows lifting. “Sharing power in front of another clan’s leaders? That’s a whole new Lexa move.”

Octavia appeared a moment later, Toren balanced on her hip, the toddler reaching curious little fingers for Clarke. “And you survived all of that with Madi in tow? You’re braver than me.”

Clarke kissed Toren’s chubby cheek before answering. “She did better than any of us. She introduced herself to the entire council in Boudalankru. Serious as could be, like she was twice her age.”

“Of course she did,” Octavia said with a small laugh, shifting Toren to her other hip. “She’s your daughter.”

Behind them, Madi’s laugh rang out as Aden lunged and she managed a clumsy but determined block. The wooden swords cracked together, and Lexa gave the faintest nod of approval.

Raven rocked back on her heels, arms crossed as her eyes flicked from Clarke to where Madi was still sparring with Aden. A sly grin pulled at her lips.

“So,” Raven said in that too-casual tone Clarke knew meant trouble, “are you and Heda planning on giving Madi a sibling anytime soon?”

Clarke blinked, caught completely off guard. “Raven—”

“What?” Raven lifted her hands, mock-innocent. “I’m just saying, she could use someone to grow up with. You know, someone closer to her age. Someone who actually shares her toys instead of towering over her like Aden.”

Clarke’s disapproving look was sharp enough to make Octavia snort from where she sat with Toren in her lap. Raven, undeterred, kept going.

“She has Toren,” Clarke countered firmly. “And the other children in Polis. She isn’t alone.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the same, Clarke.” Raven leaned in, voice lowering just enough that her teasing softened into something more thoughtful. “A sibling is… different. They grow up in the same house, share the same parents. That bond doesn’t go away.”

Clarke crossed her arms, looking away toward Madi. The girl had just managed to dodge Aden’s swipe, her small frame darting quickly, determination written all over her face.

Raven followed Clarke’s gaze, her grin fading into something more serious. “Wait,” she said slowly. “Is this about the throne?”

Clarke didn’t answer. Her silence was louder than anything she could have said.

Raven sighed. “Clarke…” She reached out and touched Clarke’s arm, her tone softer now. “Look, I get it. Things used to be brutal. If there were two Nightblood siblings, they’d have been forced to fight for it. But that’s not how things are anymore. The Coalition is changing. You and Lexa made sure of that. If you don’t want another kid for personal reasons, that’s one thing. Totally fair. But if you’re holding back just because you’re afraid of some old rule?”

Clarke’s throat tightened, but she stayed quiet.

“Don’t let fear of the past decide her future,” Raven finished gently. “Or yours.”

Clarke finally glanced at her, searching her face, but Raven didn’t press further. Instead, she gave her friend a small, reassuring smile before turning back to coo at Toren, leaving Clarke with her thoughts.

Clarke lingered at the edge of the training grounds for a moment, her eyes following Madi as she darted nimbly around Aden. At nineteen, he’d grown into his frame, tall and broad-shouldered, but his patience remained intact. He slowed his strikes, giving Madi time to read and counter, his voice calm as he corrected her footwork.

Content that Madi was well occupied, Clarke slipped away from the yard, her steps soft as she made her way through the tower. The hush of Polis settled around her, a soothing contrast to the ring of steel. When she pushed open the door to her and Lexa’s chambers, she found Lexa already inside, seated on the edge of the bed, sliding her bracers free.

Lexa looked up, her eyes lighting with that rare warmth she reserved only for Clarke. “You left her with Aden?”

Clarke smiled, closing the door behind her. “She begged me to. And honestly? He’s better at indulging her when she wants to repeat the same move over and over.”

Lexa’s lips curved, just a shade mischievous. “Persistence,” she said, setting her armor aside. “That she has from you.”

Clarke stepped closer, resting her hands on Lexa’s shoulders. “Stubbornness,” she corrected, eyes glinting. “Which she gets from you.”

Lexa tilted her head, her hands slipping to Clarke’s waist as she drew her a little nearer. Her voice dropped lower, laced with amusement. “Do you think she’ll be occupied for a while?”

Clarke caught the flicker in Lexa’s gaze and felt a slow smile spread across her face. She leaned down, brushing her lips against Lexa’s as she murmured, “Yes.”

Lexa didn’t waste another moment. She pulled Clarke into her lap, their mouths colliding in a kiss that started soft but quickly turned urgent. Clarke threaded her fingers through Lexa’s hair, sighing into the warmth of her, the familiar spark flaring bright between them.

Lexa’s lips found her neck, hot and insistent. Her hands fumbled for Lexa’s waist, tugging her closer, their bodies flush. The heat of Lexa’s skin through her clothes sent a jolt straight to Clarke’s core.

“Take this off,” Clarke whispered, fingers clutching at the hem of Lexa’s shirt. Lexa obeyed, pulling it over her head in one swift motion. Clarke’s breath caught at the sight of her. Toned, confident, perfect. Her hands roamed Lexa’s chest, her stomach, tracing every line as if memorizing it.

Lexa’s hands were just as eager, undoing the buttons of Clarke’s blouse with practiced ease. The fabric slid off her shoulders, pooling at her feet. Clarke’s bra followed, leaving her exposed to Lexa’s hungry gaze. Lexa’s hands cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples until they peaked under her touch.

Clarke shivered, her hips instinctively pressing forward, seeking friction. She kissed Lexa hard, their mouths crashing together in a messy, desperate kiss. Lexa’s hands slid down Clarke’s back, gripping her ass and lifting her effortlessly. Clarke wrapped her legs around Lexa’s waist as she carried her to the bed.

Lexa laid her down gently, but there was nothing gentle about the way she kissed her way down Clarke’s body. Her lips trailed over Clarke’s collarbone, her chest, her stomach, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. When Lexa reached the waistband of Clarke’s pants, she paused, looking up at her with a wicked grin.

“Take these off,” she commanded, her voice low and teasing.

Clarke didn’t need to be told twice. She wriggled out of her pants and underwear, tossing them aside. Lexa’s gaze burned as she took her in, naked and eager. Clarke’s heart raced as Lexa knelt between her legs, hands sliding up her thighs.

“Lexa…” Clarke moaned as Lexa’s fingers brushed against her, already wet. Lexa didn’t hesitate, curling two fingers inside her, making Clarke arch off the bed.

Her thumb circled Clarke’s clit as she pumped her fingers in and out. Clarke’s hands fisted the sheets, her moans filling the room.

But Lexa wasn’t done. She pulled her fingers out slowly, making Clarke whimper at the loss. Lexa stood, shedding the rest of her clothes until she was just as bare as Clarke. Her length stood hard and proud between her legs, and Clarke licked her lips involuntarily.

her lips brushing over Lexa’s jaw as she whispered, breathless, “Can I ride you?”

Lexa’s eyes darkened, her hands tightening on Clarke’s waist as she leaned back against the bed. A faint smile tugged at her lips as she gave a small nod. “Yes.”

Clarke shifted, straddling her, the anticipation humming between them. She lowered herself slowly, her body trembling as she felt the tip of Lexa’s cock press against her, spreading her open. The sensation was electric, sending shivers up her spine, and she let out a soft moan as she sank down further, inch by agonizing inch. She could feel every ridge, every pulse of Lexa’s arousal as she took her in, until she was seated fully

Lexa’s grip slid to her hips steadily. 

For a moment, they both stayed still, savoring the feeling, the way their bodies seemed to fit together perfectly. But then Lexa’s hands tightened on Clarke’s hips, urging her to move.

Clarke started slow, rocking her hips in small, controlled movements, feeling Lexa’s cock slide in and out of her in a rhythm that made her head spin. She could feel the pleasure building already, a warm, tingling sensation that spread through her entire body.

Clarke increased the pace, her hips moving with more urgency now. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with their ragged breaths and soft moans. Clarke’s nails dug into Lexa’s shoulders as she rode her, her body trembling with the effort, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. Not when it felt this good.

But as the pleasure grew, so did the fatigue. Her thighs burned from the exertion, and her movements began to slow, becoming less steady.

Lexa noticed immediately. “Let me,” she said, her voice firm but gentle. Before Clarke could protest, Lexa’s hands were on her hips again, taking control.

Lexa moved her with ease, thrusting up into her as Clarke gasped, the sudden change in pace sending shockwaves of pleasure through her. Lexa’s movements were precise, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside her that made her see stars. Clarke’s hands flew to the headboard for support as Lexa drove into her again and again, the intensity of it overwhelming.

“Oh god, Lexa,” Clarke moaned, her voice breaking as the pleasure became almost too much to bear. She could feel herself getting closer, her body tightening around Lexa’s cock as the pressure built inside her.

Lexa could feel it too. She shifted slightly, angling her hips just so, and Clarke cried out as the new position sent waves of pleasure crashing through her.

“Let go.”

Those words were all it took. Clarke’s orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing as pleasure ripped through her. She clung to the headboard for dear life, her cries filling the room as she came undone.

Lexa didn’t stop. She kept moving, driving into Clarke through her climax until she felt her own release building. And then she was there too, her grip on Clarke’s hips tightening as she came with a low groan, her own pleasure mingling with Clarke’s until they were both spent.

They stayed like that for a moment, breathing hard, their bodies still connected. Then Lexa gently eased Clarke down onto the bed beside her, pulling her close.

The room was still thick with warmth, their breaths only just beginning to steady, when a sharp knock rattled the door. Both women stilled, caught in that fragile space between closeness and the outside world intruding.

“Heda,” Titus’s voice carried through the wood, steady and insistent.

Lexa exhaled softly, her forehead pressing against Clarke’s for one last lingering moment. “Duty calls,” she murmured, the faintest flicker of regret in her tone. She pressed a tender kiss to Clarke’s lips, slow and grounding, as if to promise that this moment still lingered between them.

“I’ll be back soon,” Lexa assured, rising and reaching for her clothes with practiced precision, the mask of the Heda slipping into place even as the softness in her eyes remained just for Clarke.

Clarke stayed against the bed, watching her for a beat longer, her chest tightening with the familiar mix of admiration and longing. She smiled faintly, brushing a hand through her messy hair as she pulled the blanket around herself. “Go,” she said gently, voice laced with understanding. “I’ll find Madi.”

Lexa paused at the door, armored once more in the composure the world expected of her, but she cast one last look over her shoulder. Their eyes met, unspoken words exchanged in the quiet. Then she opened the door, stepping into her role as Commander, while Clarke slipped from the bed.

Clarke quickly dressed, smoothing down her tunic and running her fingers through her hair before stepping out into the corridor. Polis was alive with movement as always, the clang of steel from the training yards, the low murmur of council members in passing, the rustle of children darting about between their parents’ duties.

Her steps carried her with purpose, though her mind was still hazy with the warmth of moments shared with Lexa. It wasn’t long before she reached the training grounds. The familiar sound of blades striking echoed in the open air, the rhythm sharp and confident.

There in the center of the yard was Madi, wooden practice sword clutched firmly in her small hands. Her curls bounced with every shift of her stance, her focus sharp and unwavering. Opposite her was Renn, the older girl circling carefully, her stance cautious but respectful. Off to the side, Aden leaned on his own practice blade, eyes watchful but a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Clarke’s chest swelled with pride. At only five years old, Madi carried herself with a seriousness and authority beyond her years. She moved with instinct. Quick, agile, and determined, her laughter long since traded for the intensity of focus that reminded Clarke so much of Lexa.

“Keep your guard high,” Aden called, correcting her gently as Renn made a quick move. Madi adjusted immediately, blocking with a sharp clack of wood that drew a small cheer from the children watching at the edges of the yard.

Clarke folded her arms, watching as her daughter sparred fiercely, her brow furrowed in concentration. She was a child still, yes, but already the spirit of something greater radiated from her.

When Madi finally noticed her, her face lit up despite her seriousness. “Mom!” she called, lowering her sword and jogging over, curls damp with sweat. She pointed her blade proudly toward Renn. “I almost had him that time!”

Clarke crouched down to meet her, brushing a curl from her damp forehead. “I saw,” she said warmly. “You were incredible.” She cast a glance to Aden and Renn, who both dipped their heads respectfully to her before resuming their spar.

Madi leaned into her hug, her small body buzzing with leftover energy. Clarke held her close, whispering softly, “I’m so proud of you, Madi. Always.”

“Can we have lunch now? I’m starving,” she said, though her voice carried that little command-like tone she sometimes used that made Clarke smile, half childlike, half authoritative already.

Clarke brushed a damp curl off her daughter’s forehead. “Lunch sounds perfect,” she agreed. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat.”

Hand in hand, they made their way back into the tower. The halls were cooler than the training yard, the faint scent of herbs and woodsmoke clinging to the air. Madi chattered the whole way, her words tumbling over one another in that excited rush that Clarke had grown used to.

“When can we go back to Boudalankru? I liked it there. Shay’s children are fun, and they showed me how to catch frogs. Do you think we could visit them again soon? Or maybe another clan? I want to see how the others live too. Like… Trishanakru or even Azgeda.”

Clarke smiled at her enthusiasm as they entered the dining hall. A servant bowed lightly before hurrying toward the kitchens at Clarke’s quiet order for lunch. She guided Madi to a bench at one of the long wooden tables, lowering herself beside her as her daughter kept talking.

“You said the Coalition is made of twelve clans,” Madi went on, serious now. “But I’ve only really seen Trikru, Arkadia, and now Boudalankru. If I’m supposed to know all the clans, shouldn’t I visit them too?” Her small brow furrowed as she leaned on her elbows. “How can I understand them if I don’t?”

Clarke studied her, struck again by how much wisdom and determination lived in her five-year-old. “You’re right,” she said softly, brushing her hand through Madi’s curls. “There’s more to learn than what we see here in Polis.”

Madi turned her head, eyes bright as ever. “Then can we? Visit another clan? Please?”

Before Clarke could answer, the servant returned with a tray, steaming bowls of stew, fresh bread, and a small cup of berry juice for Madi. Clarke set the food before her daughter, smiling at how quickly she dug in, though her expectant gaze never left Clarke for long.

Clarke reached over, gently steadying the bowl that Madi was already attacking with a wooden spoon.

“You will, Madi,” Clarke said softly. “One day, you’ll visit every clan in the Coalition. You’ll see how they live, learn their traditions, and meet their people. But you have to be patient. These things take time.”

Madi looked up from her stew, a faint pout tugging at her lips. “But I don’t want to wait forever.”

Clarke chuckled, brushing her thumb along her daughter’s cheek. “It won’t be forever, I promise. You’re already learning so much, and every clan will be here when the time is right. For now, you have plenty to focus on. Your training, your studies, and maybe giving Aden a run for his money in the sparring yard.”

That coaxed a small grin out of Madi. She sat up a little straighter, pride glinting in her eyes. “I almost had him today. Next time I will.”

Clarke smiled warmly, her heart swelling with both pride and worry. “I believe you will,” she said. “And when it’s time to travel again, you’ll be ready for it.”

Madi nodded slowly, her determination softening into acceptance as she returned to her meal, though Clarke could tell her daughter’s mind was already racing ahead. Thinking of all the places she wanted to see, all the people she wanted to meet.

Chapter 40: Forty

Weeks had passed since their journey to Boudalankru. The return to Polis had been almost comforting in its familiarity. The clang of training in the yards, the steady pulse of life in the markets, Madi’s laughter echoing down the tower halls as she darted between Aden and Renn in their sparring matches.

For Clarke, those weeks were a blur of council sessions, healer duties, and stolen evenings with Lexa. For once, she almost allowed herself to believe in peace.

But peace was fragile.

The first whispers came from the lower ring. A family struck with fever. Then another. Within days, entire households were shuttered, neighbors leaving food outside their doors and fleeing before the coughing could follow them. By the end of the week, Polis itself seemed to be holding its breath.

Titus brought the report to Lexa during an early council meeting. His voice was clipped, but his hands trembled as he unrolled the parchment.

“It spreads quickly,” he said, glancing toward Clarke. “Fever. Dizziness. Weakness that worsens in days. We’ve ordered those showing symptoms to remain inside their homes, but…” He hesitated. “It is moving faster than our healers can contain.”

Clarke’s stomach dropped. The description was too familiar, too sharp, like an echo of her childhood nightmares.

“The fever,” she whispered, the word tumbling out before she could stop it.

Lexa’s head snapped toward her, eyes narrowing. “You’ve seen this before?”

Clarke nodded slowly. “When we first came to earth. When I was little. It… it killed almost a hundred people before it burned itself out. My mom fought day and night, but there was no cure. Only support.” She swallowed, forcing down the bile of memory. The sound of hacking coughs in narrow corridors, the rows body bags in med bay. 

Lexa straightened, voice calm though Clarke knew her well enough to see the tension beneath it. “Then we do what we must. Polis will go into lockdown until this sickness is contained. No one enters, no one leaves.”

Her order rippled through the council chamber like a blade.

By nightfall, Polis had changed. Barricades were erected at every gate, guards patrolled with orders to turn away travelers, and the streets emptied. Markets shuttered. Families huddled behind closed doors.

From her window, Clarke could see the city’s lights flickering lower, dimmer, as if Polis itself were holding its breath.

Madi had been restless all day, confined to the tower. She hated being told she couldn’t join her training session with Aden, hated the way the guards shadowed her every step.

When Clarke brought her dinner that night, the little girl looked up from the small pile of wooden figures she’d been arranging into mock battles. “Is it true?” she asked without preamble. “People are sick?”

Clarke paused, tray still in her hands. She’d hoped to shield her a little longer. “Yes. Some of them are sick.”

“Like before?” Madi asked. Her memory of sickness came from Clarke’s stories. Skaikru’s fever, the sickness in Arkadia after landing. But her tone carried authority far beyond her five years, as though she were testing Clarke for honesty.

“Like before,” Clarke admitted softly, setting the tray down. “But we’re taking every precaution. That’s why you need to stay in here. No wandering, no training until I say so.”

Madi frowned. “But if people are sick, shouldn’t I help? I could bring water, or—”

“No.” Clarke’s voice cracked louder than she intended, and Madi flinched. Clarke exhaled, kneeling to gather her into her arms. “No, baby. I need you safe. Please.”

After a long moment, Madi pressed her cheek into Clarke’s shoulder and nodded.

For days, the sickness spread. Shay and Nyko worked themselves raw in makeshift wards, and Clarke spent nearly every waking hour with them. They could do little more than ease suffering. Cool cloths, herbs to soothe fever, endless buckets of water. Some recovered. Many didn’t.

Each time Clarke returned to the tower, her bones ached with exhaustion, her mind haunted by too many still faces. Yet she forced herself to climb the steps to Madi’s room first, to kiss her daughter’s forehead and prove she was still well.

Lexa, meanwhile, balanced the city on the knife’s edge. She gave orders from dawn until midnight. Rationing food to keep markets from panic, shifting guards to quarantine zones, meeting frightened clan envoys at the gates and refusing them entry.

They met in their chambers late one night, Clarke slumping onto the edge of the bed while Lexa stripped off her armor piece by piece.

“How many today?” Lexa asked quietly.

“Seventeen dead,” Clarke answered, staring at her hands. “More showing symptoms.”

The silence stretched heavy between them.

Lexa finally sat beside her, their shoulders touching. “You blame yourself.”

Clarke let out a bitter laugh. “I should have prepared for this. Stocked herbs. Tried preventative measures. I should have remembered—”

“You did remember,” Lexa cut in firmly. “And because of that, you moved quickly. You saved lives, Clarke.”

Clarke wanted to believe her, but the memory of body bags drifting through space clung to her, mixing with the cries of Polis mothers outside their makeshift ward.

—

The following evening, Clarke found Lexa waiting for her in their chambers. The Commander was already stripped of her armor, seated at the table with maps and reports scattered in front of her. But when Clarke entered, Lexa didn’t look at them, her green eyes were fixed solely on her.

“You’re late,” Lexa said softly. Not with anger, but with concern.

“I was with Nyko and Shay,” Clarke explained, rubbing her hands over her face. “Two more died today. Three more came in by nightfall.”

Lexa pushed her chair back, standing. “Which is why I’ve made a decision.”

Clarke’s shoulders tensed. “What decision?”

Lexa stepped closer, her voice steady but carrying that careful edge Clarke knew meant she’d been thinking about this for hours. “Madi should be sent to Arkadia until the sickness passes.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Clarke’s eyes widened. “What? No. She’s never been there without us. She doesn’t even know the place.”

“She knows Abby, Lincoln, Octavia. Even Kane. And Toren is there,” Lexa countered. “No one in Arkadia is showing symptoms. It is safer than Polis, and she will not be alone.”

Clarke shook her head, pacing. “I can’t just send her away like baggage. She’ll be scared. And what if something happens on the road—”

“You can go with her.”

That stopped Clarke cold. Lexa’s gaze was unwavering, her tone calm, but her jaw tightened just slightly, a sign of how much this suggestion cost her.

“You’re asking me to leave?” Clarke whispered.

“I am asking you to protect her,” Lexa corrected. “I need you here, Clarke. Polis needs you. But Madi needs you more. If you take her to Arkadia, see her safe, you can return and continue the fight here. My guards will escort you both. The road will be secured.”

Clarke turned away, fighting back the sting of tears. She hated how reasonable Lexa’s words sounded. She hated that her heart was already screaming in agreement while her mind resisted.

“Lexa…” She pressed her palms against the table, bracing herself. “I can’t abandon people who are dying. Not again.”

Lexa came up behind her, laying a hand on her shoulder. “You will not be abandoning them. You will be saving our child. Clarke, we cannot risk her falling ill. Not when we have the power to prevent it.”

Clarke closed her eyes, the memories of the fever flashing unbidden. Her mother fighting for every patient, her father whispering to her that it would pass, the sealed doors of the quarantined corridors. Children hadn’t been spared then. And Madi…

She turned slowly, meeting Lexa’s eyes. The Commander’s mask was there, steady and unreadable, but beneath it Clarke could see the same fear mirrored back. Fear for Madi. Fear of losing her.

Finally, Clarke exhaled, defeated. “Fine. I’ll take her.”

Relief softened Lexa’s expression, though she hid it quickly. She cupped Clarke’s cheek, pressing her forehead to hers. “Thank you.”

Clarke leaned into the touch, her voice breaking. “I’ll retrieve her when it’s safe.”

Lexa’s lips brushed hers, a fleeting kiss filled with unspoken promises. 

—

The journey to Arkadia was mercifully uneventful, but Clarke still hadn’t slept. Every sound of branches snapping in the distance, every rustle along the treeline kept her on edge until finally the gates of Arkadia came into view.

The guards on watch recognized them instantly, shouting down as the heavy doors groaned open. Clarke felt Madi shift beside her on the horse, sitting taller as they entered.

“Clarke!”

Her mother was already striding forward before the gate had even closed. Abby’s face broke into a mixture of relief and worry, her pace quickening. Clarke slid off the horse and helped Madi down just as Abby reached them.

“Grandma!” Madi chirped, running into her grandmother’s arms. Abby scooped her up easily, holding her close, her hand cradling the back of Madi’s head as if she were still much smaller.

“Oh, my girl,” Abby whispered, kissing her cheek before looking up at Clarke, her eyes sharp. “What’s happened?”

Clarke’s throat tightened, but she forced her voice steady. “Polis is in lockdown. It’s… it’s the fever again. Like what hit Arkadia when I was little. We’ve already lost too many.”

Abby’s eyes darkened at the memory. She hugged Madi a little tighter before shifting her into one arm so she could reach for Clarke with the other, grounding her with a touch on her shoulder. “And you brought her here to keep her safe.”

Clarke nodded, guilt twisting in her stomach. “Lexa insisted. I didn’t want to leave, but she was right.”

Abby’s expression softened. “She is right. Clarke, you can’t risk Madi in Polis right now. She’ll be safer here.” She glanced back toward the heart of the camp. “Octavia and Lincoln are already here. Toren too. She won’t be lonely.”

Madi, sensing the heaviness in the conversation, leaned her head on Abby’s shoulder but spoke up with her usual clarity. “I’m not scared. I’ll be good here.”

Clarke leaned over kissed the top of her head again, her voice breaking just slightly. “I know you will, my brave girl.”

The moment didn’t last long. Clarke cleared her throat, forcing herself back to the matter at hand. “We need to get to the med bay. I need to bring back everything we can spare. Herbs, antibiotics, rehydration packs. Nyko and Shay are already running low.”

Abby gave a firm nod, adjusting Madi against her hip. “Of course. Let’s go.”

They made their way quickly across camp, guards and familiar faces calling greetings as they passed. Clarke noticed how clean the air felt here, how the children played freely in the open space, no fear of sickness shadowing their movements. For a brief moment, she envied it.

The med bay smelled faintly of antiseptic and dried herbs. It was quieter than Clarke remembered, but still full of supplies carefully cataloged and organized. Abby set Madi down gently near a cot with some children’s books stacked beside it.

“Stay here, sweetheart. I’ll only be a minute.”

Madi nodded and immediately began flipping through a book, her little brow furrowed in concentration.

Clarke followed Abby deeper into the storeroom, her eyes sweeping over the shelves. “We’ll need willow bark for fevers, and the last of the antibiotics if we can spare them. Anything for hydration. Salt, IV packs.”

Abby was already moving, pulling jars and packets down with practiced precision. “You’re going to need gloves too, Clarke. And masks. You can’t be exposing yourself without protection.”

Clarke swallowed, watching her mother’s hands work. “I’ll take what I can. But you know as well as I do, if this is what I think it is, we’re not going to save everyone.”

Abby paused just long enough to glance at her daughter, pain flickering in her eyes. “No. But you’ll save more than you would without these.”

Together, they filled Clarke’s pack until it was heavy on her shoulders. The weight was familiar, though this time it carried not just supplies but the hope of an entire city.

When they returned to the front of the med bay, Madi was waiting, standing now with her book clutched to her chest. Her eyes went straight to Clarke.

“Are we going back now?” she asked, serious in her small way.

Clarke crouched down, brushing a curl from her daughter’s forehead. “Not yet, baby. You’re staying here with Grandma for a while, remember?”

Madi pouted faintly but nodded. “Because Polis is sick.”

“Yes,” Clarke whispered, hugging her tightly. She breathed in the scent of Madi’s hair, willing herself to memorize it. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

Madi leaned back just far enough to look her in the eye. “Don’t break your promise.”

Clarke’s chest tightened, but she forced a smile. “Never.”

Abby rested a hand on Clarke’s back, her voice gentle but firm. “She’ll be safe here. Now go, they needs you.”

Clarke kissed Madi’s cheek one last time, then straightened, adjusting her pack. She met her mother’s gaze, unspoken words passing between them. Gratitude, fear, determination.

Then she turned toward the door.

Back to Polis. Back to Lexa.

—

The gates of Polis creaked open as Clarke rode in, the weight of her pack digging into her shoulders. The city looked different already. Streets that were once filled with merchants and children now lay quiet, heavy with the silence of fear. Windows were shuttered. Smoke from small fires curled up into the grey sky, carrying with it the scent of burning herbs meant to ward off sickness.

Clarke slid off her horse, exhaustion running deep in her bones, but she didn’t let herself pause. Not with what was waiting.

The med bay was overflowing. She could hear the coughing before she even reached the doors. Inside, the space was packed with cots, each one filled with patients. Some children, some elderly, others in the prime of their strength but already weakened by the fever. The air was hot and stifling, thick with the smell of sweat, sickness, and the sharp tang of herbal poultices.

“Clarke!” Shay’s voice carried over the din. The young healer looked pale and worn, dark circles under her eyes, but relief softened her features as Clarke appeared. “You made it back.”

Clarke nodded briskly, setting down her pack and pulling off her gloves. “I brought supplies from Arkadia. Antibiotics, hydration packs, willow bark. Enough to buy us time.”

Nyko appeared at Shay’s shoulder, looking equally drained. He gave Clarke a small nod of greeting, his face grim. “Good. We’ve already lost five today.”

Clarke’s stomach twisted but she forced herself to stay steady. “Show me the worst cases.”

And then she was moving, cot to cot, patient to patient.

The hours blurred together. Clarke worked without pause, cleaning wounds that had opened from excessive coughing, changing damp cloths pressed to overheated foreheads, carefully rationing the precious antibiotics for those who had a chance to fight through if given the edge. She rehydrated children with trembling hands, coaxing them to drink bitter willow bark tea, whispering reassurances she barely had the strength to believe herself.

One young boy clutched her hand tightly as she adjusted his blanket, his lips cracked from fever. “Am I going to die?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

Clarke swallowed the lump in her throat, brushing his damp hair back. “Not if I can help it. Rest. Let me do the worrying for you.”

He nodded weakly and closed his eyes, still holding her hand until sleep finally took him.

By the time night fell, Clarke’s back ached and her fingers were raw from scrubbing clean. She hadn’t eaten. She hadn’t stopped moving. And she hadn’t seen Lexa.

Every time she passed the door, she expected her to appear. Her calm presence, her quiet strength. But she didn’t. Titus had said Lexa was overseeing council meetings and patrol assignments, working day and night to prevent panic from tearing Polis apart. Clarke understood. But that didn’t stop the ache in her chest from growing heavier each hour.

On the third day, she stumbled into a small back room to wash her hands. The water was lukewarm and tinged pink with blood from her cracked knuckles, but she barely noticed. She pressed her palms flat against the basin, staring at her reflection in the warped metal. Her eyes were hollow. She looked too much like the girl who had watched nearly a hundred Arkadians die when she was little.

Shay slipped in quietly behind her, setting down a bundle of fresh cloths. “You should rest,” she said softly. “You’ve been here since dawn. Again.”

Clarke shook her head. “They need me.”

Shay hesitated, then lowered her voice. “Lexa needs you too.”

The words made Clarke’s chest tighten. She hadn’t even heard her name spoken aloud in days. She closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself. “I’ll see her when I can. Right now, the sick can’t wait.”

And so she went back out. She bent over patients, her braid coming loose, hands steady even when her legs shook. She taught the younger healers how to measure doses, how to watch for signs that the fever was breaking or worsening. She moved like a storm, everywhere at once, her presence the closest thing to hope many in Polis had left.

But every night when the med bay finally quieted, when the candles burned low and the city outside lay in uneasy silence, Clarke found herself standing at the window, staring toward the Commander’s tower.

She wondered if Lexa was staring back.

—

The great hall of Polis was heavy with tension. Lexa sat at the head of the council table, her posture perfectly straight despite the exhaustion tightening her shoulders. Around her, the warlords, ambassadors, and advisers murmured in uneasy tones. The torches lining the walls flickered, casting deep shadows that stretched across the stone floor.

Titus stood at her side, a roll of parchment in his hands. “Reports from the outer districts confirm additional cases. Trikru villages east of Polis are seeing symptoms, and Delphikru reports three deaths.”

The words settled like a weight across the chamber.

Indra’s voice cut through first, sharp and clipped. “We must quarantine the gates entirely. No one enters Polis until this sickness is purged. If we allow trade, if we allow movement, it will spread to every clan.”

A ripple of agreement moved through some of the warlords, but a Delphikru representative bristled. “And starve our people? The markets depend on Polis. You would condemn villages to hunger in exchange for a chance at health.”

Lexa raised a hand, and silence fell. Her green eyes swept the room. “We will not starve our people. Nor will we allow this sickness to consume us unchecked. The gates remain open only to supply lines. Guarded, inspected, and monitored.”

She looked toward Titus. “Every shipment will be documented. Every cart examined. If there is sign of sickness, it will not enter Polis.”

“Yes, Heda,” Titus murmured, already scribbling notes.

Still, muttering spread across the table. Worry bled into their voices, fear turning into sharpness.

Roan’s envoy, a broad-shouldered woman with a hard face, leaned forward. “If it cannot be contained, what then? We cannot allow Polis to infect all of Azgeda. The Commander must consider fire. Burn the infected. End it swiftly.”

A low hiss of outrage went up. Even Indra stiffened.

Lexa’s jaw tightened, but she did not look away. Her voice, when it came, was low and deliberate, cutting through the din like a blade. “We will not burn the sick.”

The envoy opened her mouth to argue, but Lexa’s glare silenced her. “If we give in to fear, we will destroy our people faster than any sickness can. Polis will not descend into chaos. Not while I command it.”

Indra inclined her head, the smallest flicker of approval passing over her face.

Lexa rose to her feet then, palms pressed against the table. “We will act. Patrols will guard the gates and markets. Healers will be given priority access to supplies and protection. Food will be rationed to prevent shortages. And I will not hear talk of abandoning the sick. They are our people. We will fight for them, as we would against any enemy.”

Silence followed. Heavy, but steadier now. Even those who had pushed for harsher measures sat back, chastened.

Titus cleared his throat, hesitant. “And… what of Skaikru, Heda? Some on the council whisper this sickness comes from them.”

The murmurs in the chamber sharpened at once, fueled by fear. A Trikru elder muttered darkly about the “strange medicines” of Skaikru, and the Azgeda envoy smirked as if Titus had voiced what they’d all been thinking.

Lexa’s gaze swept the table, cool and commanding. “Arkadia has shown no signs of infection. None.” Her voice rang out, silencing the chamber. “Their healers, their children, their warriors, all remain untouched. Skaikru is not the source of this sickness.”

The Delphikru ambassador frowned. “Then where did it come from?”

Lexa shook her head once. “We do not yet know. But we will not turn this council into a place of rumor and blame. To cast suspicion without proof only divides us when unity is what we need most.” Her tone sharpened, a subtle warning threaded through the words.

Indra nodded, supporting her Commander. “Heda is right. Skaikru’s Arkadia sits close to Trikru territory. If they had brought the sickness, we would all see it by now.”

That reminder quieted more voices.

Lexa pressed her palms against the table, her strength steady and unyielding. “Our focus must remain on controlling the spread here in Polis, not chasing shadows. Arkadia has no cases. Skaikru healers are already working to aid us. They are not our enemy.”

Her words carried the finality of command, brooking no further challenge. The chamber stilled, fear dimmed for the moment by the weight of her conviction.

The chamber emptied slowly, murmurs lingering like smoke in the air. Lexa remained seated, her fingers pressed against the carved wood of the council table. The weight of command was heavy tonight, heavier than most. She did not allow herself to show it.

The door creaked open again. Shay slipped inside, her healer’s satchel hanging heavily from her shoulder. Stray strands of hair stuck to her damp forehead, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion. She dipped her head respectfully, though her usual warmth was dulled by fatigue.

“Heda,” she greeted softly, her voice hoarse.

Lexa straightened in her chair. “Shay. You’ve come from the med bay?”

Shay nodded, stepping closer. “I thought you should hear the updates directly. Clarke is still there, she wouldn’t leave. The patients… they’re worsening.”

Lexa’s jaw tightened, though her tone remained calm. “How many dead?”

Shay drew in a breath, as though steadying herself before speaking. “Three more since last night. That makes twenty-two in total. Most of them too weak to fight off the fever. The very old and some young.”

Lexa’s eyes lowered briefly, but she quickly masked the flicker of grief. “And the others?”

“The numbers in quarantine grow every day. Some hold steady, others decline. Clarke and Abby’s treatments ease the fevers for a time, but it does not cure. We’re doing everything we can, but we are running out of supplies. Herbs, clean bandages, even water for cooling the patients.” Shay swallowed hard, guilt lining her features. “Clarke insisted I tell you the truth, not the softened version.”

Lexa rose to her feet, her presence filling the chamber as she stepped closer. “Do not carry the blame, Shay. You and the other healers fight as warriors do, on the battlefield of sickness.” Her voice softened, just slightly. “No one could give more than you have.”

Shay’s lips pressed thin, her eyes glistening. “I fear it won’t be enough. Clarke won’t say it outright, but I see it in her. She remembers how quickly this sickness claimed lives on the in Arkadia. And if it continues to spread…” She trailed off, letting the weight of that possibility hang in the silence.

Lexa stood tall, steady where Shay trembled. “It will not. We will not allow it.” She turned toward the doorway, as though already planning. “I will see the guard captains tonight. More will be stationed at the quarantines. Supplies will be prioritized. Whatever you need, you will have.”

Shay gave a small, tired nod. “Clarke will be grateful to hear that.”

Lexa’s gaze softened at Clarke’s name. For a fleeting moment, the Commander seemed less like the unyielding leader and more like the woman who hadn’t seen her wife in days. “And Clarke? How is my wife?”

Shay hesitated, then allowed a faint smile. “Stubborn as ever. She hasn’t slept more than a few hours. She barely eats. But she won’t stop, not while lives can still be saved.”

Lexa’s chest rose slowly, a controlled breath to keep worry from breaking her composure. “Of course,” she murmured. “Clarke would carry the world on her shoulders if she could.”

“She already does,” Shay whispered.

The two women shared a heavy silence, the distant sounds of Polis, muted by quarantine and fear, pressing in on the room. Finally, Lexa inclined her head. “Go. Rest, if only for a few hours. That is an order, Shay.”

Shay gave a weary smile, bowing her head again before leaving.

Lexa remained behind, alone in the great chamber. Her hand curled briefly into a fist on the table. Polis was sick, her people dying, and Clarke fighting without her at her side. She had never felt the limits of her command so sharply.

But she would not bend. She could not.