Chapter 1: Of Secrets and Plots

Clarke Griffin did not want to get married.

She especially did not want to get married to a sleaze like this guy; Cage Wallace. He stood in front of her next to his grizzled old father, hands shoved deep into his suit's pockets. His eyes flickered over to hers and matched her scrutinizing glare with a cruel smirk. His gaze made her skin prickle in disgust.

She had ignored her father's conversation with Dante Wallace, Cage's father, at first. Instead she focused mainly on the creepy guy in front of her who looked like he had definitely tortured some people before. Now she tuned in as she felt their discussion drawing to a close.

"…Yes, I believe this marriage will be beneficial to both our families, Mr. Wallace. If you'll follow me to the parlor, we can negotiate the…terms of our agreement." Her father turned to her.

"Clarke? Maybe you and Cage would like to get to know each other while Mr. Wallace and I talk?" His eyes begged for forgiveness as he condemned her to a fate worse than death. She still couldn't wrap her head around it. Her own father, selling her off to the highest bidder for more land, more money, more profit.

"I don't think so." She grinned sweetly. "Thanks for selling me off, Dad." She gestured crudely to all of them and stalked away.

"I'm so sorry, she's a bit high-spirited…" Jake Griffin apologized profusely for her to their slime ball guests. She decided he was no longer her father. She sighed as her steps echoed through the empty halls leading to her room. Honestly, Jake hadn't been her father in years. Ever since they moved from England to here, the Caribbean, he had been obsessed with wealth and power; just like every other asshole plantation owner who couldn't see past the profits on a paper. He had been consumed; and though his love for his daughter was still there, his love of money far outweighed it.

Clarke hoisted her heavy, flashy dress up and began climbing the huge staircase leading up to her "tower"; her room. The exercise felt nice after sitting for so long, making small talk with the random rich men her father often invited over. And it kept her mind off of her impending doom. She finally reached the top and put her hand on her knees, breathing heavily. I really need to invest in a different mode of transportation than my own feet. Maybe a hot, burly butler to carry me everywhere. She snorted. With the money her father made, it wouldn't be a problem to pay someone to do it.

Winded no longer, she threw open the oak doors leading to her chambers. An window draped with tied-back curtains invited a warm Caribbean breeze into the room, carrying the smell of salt and sand. To the right, a large, fluffy, mahogany-framed queen bed took up a good portion of the room. White gossamer kept the insects away from the clean white sheets and dark blue comforter. To the left, a walk-in closet overflowing with finery was set into the wall, along with an open doorway leading to her bathing chambers.

Clarke stepped into the room and peeled off the expensive, jeweled dress she had been forced to wear to impress those worms. With it lying in a heap on the floor, she felt light as a feather in only her undergarments. She strolled over to the window and propped her elbows on the warm stone, letting the ocean breeze wash over her skin. The moonlight reflecting off the dark ocean soothed her. She inhaled deeply, letting the sound of the waves and rustling palm fronds push thoughts of Cage to the back of her mind. That is where I belong. She thought; out on the sea, exploring, learning, doing something other than sitting in a tower like a lonely princess. She rested her head on her arms and sighed mournfully, feeling exactly like said princess.

"Psst…" Clarke squeaked in surprise at the unexpected voice emanating from directly below her, and jerked away from the window. A dark head of messy curls popped up from below the sill. A pearly-white grin stood out in stark contrast to midnight skin.

"Costia!" Clarke hissed. "You scared the shit outta me!" Costia's eyes sparkled with mirth.

"Maybe those sleazy half-wit Wallace boys can clean it up for you." She grinned. Clarke laughed and helped her friend clamber through the window into her room. Costia brushed herself off, then took Clarke by the shoulders and looked at her seriously. "I've come to save you princess." She said in heroic voice.

"I cannot believe you climbed up the side of my house just to talk to me!" Clarke giggled and shoved her friend back playfully. Costia's smile returned. "You didn't meet me in the cave today, so I got a little worried." She admitted.

"Yeah, my father had me entertaining more of his plantation buddies all afternoon." She snorted. "And then…"

"Cage." Costia nodded sullenly. "I heard from some of my friends that work in the house. I'm so sorry, Clarke…" she took her hands in her own.

Clarke felt the tears well up in her eyes. All her anger had dissipated when she saw Costia; now, she felt only hopelessness. "I'm sorry too Cos, that you are forced to work for such an evil man. But even if we are trapped, we are trapped together." She smiled tiredly at the other girl, her heart burdened with sorrow. But Costia's expression made her frown. "What are you thinking?" she asked.

"Mmm…maybe not." Costia mused. Clarke huffed and folded her arms. "Alright, alright." Costia caved to her impatience. She leaned forward and lowered her voice, despite no one being close except Clarke. "My mother, and some of the others enslaved on Cage's plantation….they're planning an escape." She whispered, Clarke's eyes widened, and she gestured for her friend to continue. "I heard them talking late last night. They were saying they were tired of being slaves, tired of being traded like animals and beaten like dogs. And I agree…" Clarke grimaced. She was no stranger to the atrocity of slavery. Even her father, like many other plantation owners, had slaves working his sugar fields; although he treated them like human beings, unlike Cage Wallace. Her betrothed. She shuddered at the thought.

"…I said I wanted to join the rebellion. And I want you to come." Clarke jerked her head up as Costia finished speaking. "Me?" Clarke sputtered. "You want me to…leave with you and your family?" she was baffled. Here was this African girl, a slave to the man Clarke was engaged to, someone she had befriended merely by chance, asking her to leave this place and go out in search of something better. Clarke's eyes wandered around her room, taking in the finery and niceties most people had no chance of attaining. Was there something better?

"I care about you Clarke." Costia pleaded, her hands squeezing hers gently. "You have given me so much, just by being my friend, and I don't want you to suffer at the hands of that asswipe!" she exclaimed. Clarke looked her in the eye. "What did your mother say about this? Or did you not tell her?" she demanded.

Costia straightened. "She agrees with me, as do the rest of them." She said firmly. Clarke stood and began pacing her room, in deep thought. Her lack of decent clothing did nothing to help warm her clammy skin as she considered the possibilities.

A thought struck her, and she froze mid-step. Is this what Abby did? She hadn't thought of her mother in years…Abby had left when Clarke was just twelve; disgusted by her money-crazy husband and the slavery he believed in. She had gone quickly in the night; had taken to the high seas in search of something…something better. Of course.

Clarke turned to Costia, who looked at her with hopeful eyes. "Are you sure about this?" Clarke whispered. Clarke only risked getting dragged back home to an arranged marriage. The strong African girl in front of her risked everything; beatings, separation from her family, even death. Costia placed a rough, calloused hand on Clarke's smooth shoulder, looking her dead in the eyes.

"I'm sure."