When Princess Clarke decided to run the contest, she swore it wasn't because of the coffee. Or at least not just because of the coffee.
Not that she didn't love her java, but that was just a side benefit. The icing on the cake, if you will. A good excuse to maybe drink more of the stuff than she knew was strictly healthy.
Or so Raven accused her with a smirk.
"Come on, Clarke! You know damn well all you really want to do is sit around and sketch all day, drinking endless cups of coffee. How the hell did you fool Queen Abby into thinking you were doing this for the good of the kingdom?"
Clarke shrugged. "I hate playing princess, but Mom says if I'm gonna be queen someday, I need to go out and get to know my subjects. So I figured a "Best Coffee in the Realm" contest would be killing two birds with one stone. Even if I don't have time to draw, I can get some decent coffee. Because the coffee at the palace has really sucked lately."
Raven frowned. "So why is it again that you need me to go with?"
"I just need someone to talk to, that's all."
Raven gaped at her. "I thought the idea was to get to know your subjects. Doesn't that include talking to them?"
Clarke could feel her face getting hot. "I... um... you know how hard it is for me to strike up a conversation with someone I don't know. Especially if they know I'm the royal princess. I never know if they're talking to me because they like me or just..."
She shook her head and sighed. "And Mom insisted I show up for the judging in the royal limo, so everyone in the coffee shop will know it's really me. She said it would give the winner the genuine royal seal of approval."
Raven smiled and wrapped an arm around Clarke's slight - and faintly slumped - shoulders.
"Yeah, I know," she agreed sympathetically. "Stick you at a ribbon-cutting or ask you to give a speech at the royal museum and you're all over it. But I still remember what happened when I introduced you to the cute guy at that party last month. For a second, I thought maybe you forgot how to talk."
Clarke squirmed, recalling the incident. "Well, fuck, Raven! Did you have to introduce me as 'Her Royal Highness, the Princess Clarke of Arkadia'? Couldn't you have gone with something... I don't know... a little more low key?"
Raven laughed. "Clarke! Shaw's a guard. He already knew who you were. He just wanted to meet you face to face."
"Shaw, huh?" Clarke's eyes narrowed and glinted at Raven. "So are you benefitting from my being an awkward idiot?"
"Yeah, well maybe I've seen him a few times since then," Raven admitted matter-of-factly, giving nothing away. "I do get time off from being the Official First-Friend-in-Waiting. So what about this coffee?" she added quickly, smoothly changing the subject. "Do you have a lot of contenders?"
Clarke nodded. "Yeah, quite a few applicants. I mean, who wouldn't want to be declared the Royal Coffee Maker?"
Raven's mouth quirked and her right shoulder lifted in an exaggerated shrug. "Who, indeed?"
XXXXXXXXXX
If Clarke had thought it was going to be an easy quest to find the most perfect brew in all of Arkadia, she soon found she was very much mistaken. Oh, there was plenty of coffee out there, and a whole shitload of coffee shops to drink it in, but none of those coffees was exactly... right.
She'd had plenty of spiced, iced, cinnamoned, pumpkined, whipped, creamed, latted, espressoed, cappucinoed, and otherwise tortured coffee. She'd even - one day when she'd felt particularly daring - tried some of it with a splash of soy milk. Which did not, she found, improve any of it.
She had met a lot of her subjects, of course, so that was a good thing. And had even felt that many of them seemed to like her - Clarke - for herself, even though she'd shown up in the stretch limo with the royal seal.
But without fail, the one thing they all wanted to know was when she'd make up her mind. And as of right now, she hadn't got a clue. Today was the end of the road. As of lunchtime, she figured she'd seen and sampled them all. Every damn brew in the realm. And still hadn't found anything worthy of a royal seal.
So she was particularly discouraged when she left the final shop. So distracted, in fact, that she just missed running headlong into a passing student, nearly upending the paper cup that was clutched in his hand.
She brushed against him so closely that the fragrance of what was in that cup wafted across the space between them and hit Clarke's olfactory senses just as the kid managed to twist around her and continue on his way down the sidewalk.
No one ever said that Princess Clarke of Arkadia was not quick on the uptake.
She whirled smoothly. "Hey, wait!"
The young man pivoted, brow lifted in inquiry.
"Yeah?"
"Um...ah...what's that in your hand?"
His forehead wrinkled in confusion as he regarded his right hand. "It's, uh, coffee?"
Clarke nodded, excitement filling her. "Yeah, but, um, where did you get it?"
"Beans."
Clarke frowned. Oh, no. "Beans? You brewed it yourself, at home?" Despite the paper cup?
The guy laughed. "No. Beans. It's a coffee shop just up the street."
Clarke turned every which way, but saw none of the telltale cafe awnings or kitschy placards that signaled there was another coffee shop on that street.
"Um, if you go down that alley," he nodded, pointing to a barely-there sliver of space between two buildings, "it's the third door on your right. But you should hurry," he added, glancing at his watch. "He's closing up early today."
Clarke scooted down the street, waving Raven away. "Why don't you get back in the limo while I check this out. I'll only be a few minutes."
The cafe was there, just like he'd said, but the entrance was so unprepossessing that if she hadn't been looking for it she could easily have passed it right by. Still, when she opened the door the small room looked surprisingly full, most of the tables occupied by students of every stripe, all carrying their ubiquitous laptops or tablets.
Clarke made her way to the counter, and while the barista never looked up, he must have sensed her presence.
"What can I get you?" he asked abstractedly, his deep voice bouncing off the surface of the glass cases that sat beneath the counter he was so assiduously cleaning.
Clarke cleared her throat, but he spoke again before she could utter a single word.
"All we have is regular coffee," he advised gruffly, still without looking up. "So if you're looking for a cinnamon soy latte pumpkin splash, then you've come to the wrong place."
"Is that even a thing?" she asked, laughing. "But it doesn't matter. All I want is plain coffee anyway. Black. No sugar."
As his head slowly lifted, Clarke was able to glimpse a small smile on his face.
"Aha!" he began. "A woman..."
And then his head snapped up completely, and his voice suddenly ground to a halt. Their eyes locked, and Clarke's breath caught in her throat. Then his smiled widened and became focused directly on her.
"...after my own heart," he finished softly.
Clarke's pulse quickened as she contemplated the man standing on the other side of the counter. A mop of curly hair, deep brown eyes, and the most sensuous lips she'd ever seen.
He was beautiful.
"Guess I came to the right place," she said, with an answering smile of her own.
"Oh, yeah?" his smile became a one-sided grin.
"For the coffee," she reminded him.
"Oh, right," he said easily, but the tips of his ears were pink as he turned away to fill a mug.
"How do you know I don't want it to go?" she asked when he handed it to her. Somehow thoroughly at ease despite the fact that he was a stranger, and a handsome one at that.
He shrugged, his smile morphing into a tiny smirk. "Just hoping."
Clarke couldn't help but laugh as she took the coffee and chose a muffin from the case. One he swore to her he'd baked himself. She spied a single empty table in the farthest corner of the small room and made a beeline for it.
As she sat there drinking the best coffee she'd ever had, eating a delicious blueberry muffin, and stealing an occasional glance at the man behind the counter, Clarke began to fervently wish she had her sketchbook with her. If ever there was a face she itched to draw...
She drank her way through two more cups of coffee, never noticing that the room had begun to empty, until suddenly she was the only customer left. Just after 3pm, the proprietor approached her, his face showing some reluctance.
"Hey, so I'm closing up soon. But, uh, take your time."
"So early?"
He shrugged. "I've been here since 4 am, and an 11-hour day is about all I can take."
"Couldn't you maybe get some help, um...?" She cocked a brow at him.
"Bellamy," he supplied, along with a lopsided smile.
"Couldn't you get someone to work in the afternoon, Bellamy? Seems a shame to close when your coffee is so great."
"Yeah, my sister usually works the afternoons, but she has exams this week."
Clarke nodded and rose, finally realizing just how long she'd left Raven cooling her heels in the limo.
"I'll get out of your way then, but I really do love your coffee."
"Thanks, um...?" Both brows rose to meet the mop of hair.
"Clarke."
She waited for the penny to drop, for him to figure out who it was who'd been drinking his coffee, but his friendly expression never changed. His face didn't take on that blank frozen look people sometimes got when they suddenly realized they were in the presence of royalty. Maybe Bellamy didn't pay attention to the royals. Or their doings.
"So, Bellamy," she turned suddenly at the door. "I was just wondering. Your coffee is so good, how come you didn't enter the coffee contest and try to get the royal seal of approval?"
"Right!" He snorted, shaking his head. "Those people don't care about my kind of coffee. They like all that other shit. The kind that takes five minutes just to order." He shrugged. "So... not much point."
Clarke held out her hand for Bellamy to shake. "You might be surprised."
XXXXXXXXXX
If Raven hadn't been amusing herself texting with Shaw, Clarke was pretty sure she'd have heard a lot more about the long wait. As it was, when Clarke decided to revisit Beans the next day, this time with sketchbook in hand, she figured there was no point at all in making Raven come along.
"I'm sure you've got something you'd rather be doing than visiting more coffee shops," she told Raven, not quite meeting her eye.
Raven frowned suspiciously. "Hey, I've had something I'd rather be doing for weeks now. And besides, I thought you were done with the coffee thing."
"Not quite," she said airily. "I'm, uh, checking out a few more."
When Queen Abby asked the next morning, she was told the same.
"Sorry, Mom, I haven't quite made up my mind on the coffee. But," she enthused, "I'm meeting some really interesting people."
Her mother regarded her curiously, but Clarke left before any more questions could be asked. She told herself she wanted to get to Beans early because the light for sketching was so much better in the morning. And that it had nothing at all to do with her eagerness to reconnect with the cafe's handsome proprietor.
She decided to take the bus like any ordinary student, instead of traveling by limo as would befit the princess of the realm. So far, Bellamy didn't know who she was, and for reasons she preferred not to examine too closely she wanted to keep it that way.
All doubt about whether she should have returned at all were blown away when she opened the door and was met with a smile so warm and so bright that her heart soared.
"Hey," Bellamy said through his smile. "You came back." He cocked his head toward the corner of the room. "I think your table's free. Go ahead. I'll bring you a coffee."
Clarke smiled at such personal service, and settled in comfortably next to the window. When Bellamy brought her coffee, he blinked in surprise at the opened sketchbook.
"You don't mind if I sketch, do you?" she asked a little hesitantly.
He shrugged and smiled. "Can't imagine what there is to draw around here but knock yourself out."
As always, the minutes flew by when she had the charcoals in hand, and it seemed like no time at all before Bellamy was back, asking if she wanted some lunch. Asking to take a look at her drawings.
His face twisted in surprise when she handed him the book. "You've drawn a picture of me."
She grinned. "Well, you are part of the decor."
He laughed. "At least you didn't say I was part of the furniture."
Then he was off to wait on customers, and bring her some lunch, and pretty soon - although she could hardly believe it - he was closing up for the day.
"See you," she called out softly as she let herself out.
"I hope so," came his quiet reply.
The next few days passed in pretty much the same fashion, except that each day Bellamy somehow found more and more time to sit and chat with her.
"You're really a talented artist, Clarke," he told her on the third day, as she handed him a sketch of one of his more flamboyant customers. "Are you studying art? Is this your winter break?"
"Uh, not exactly, but art is important to me."
She knew she was being evasive, that he was bound to ask the same questions everyone asked of new friends. She understood that she couldn't put him off forever.
On the fourth day, Bellamy told her it was his last day of closing up early, that his sister would be back the next day to cover the afternoon shift.
"Would you like to go for a walk after I close up? Or... maybe to a movie?"
His hesitation was charming, and Clarke was so tempted. But at the same time, she wasn't sure if she'd be able to keep him from learning her identify if they started strolling around the city. She'd already had a few puzzled looks from some of his patrons.
But a little more time with Bellamy? She wasn't letting that slip through her fingers.
"You have a car, right? Maybe we could just take a ride and you can show me the parts of the city that are home to you."
"I have a beat-up truck. And I'm not sure my old neighborhood is the kind of place you'd want to go sightseeing," he said, his lip curling up in a wry smile. "But sure, let's go for a ride."
Clarke had always prided herself on knowing every part of the city that would one day be her city. But if she'd ever visited the rundown yet homey neighborhood where Bellamy and his sister had grown up it had long since left her consciousness.
"It was all Mom could afford," Bellamy said. She could hear the defensive pride in his voice as they twisted their way through the narrow streets.
"But if you were a happy child, I mean... that's what really matters, isn't it?"
He nodded, shrugged. "I think I was, right up until Mom died. After that, things were a little... chaotic for me and Octavia. But we got through it."
Clarke gave him a sympathetic smile. "I know what that's like. I lost my dad when I was just a kid."
But as soon as she said it, she felt the tiniest twinge of guilt. Yes, she had grieved for her dad... and missed him still... but after his death her life had gone on exactly as before. Not a single moment of chaos had ever overwhelmed her.
While Clarke was contemplating the vast differences in their early years, Bellamy was taking several quick turns towards a different part of the city. One that, to Clarke, was much more familiar territory.
The city's resplendent university was a place where she actually had studied art, if only for two very happy semesters, because that was all her mother would agree to. After that, she'd had to switch to courses in management, and government, and finance, all to prepare her for the life she'd been destined to lead since the day she was born.
She sighed as Bellamy pulled up outside an imposing stone building, one with 'Griffin Hall' etched over the huge double doors.
"I was lucky enough to get one of the royal scholarships to study business here, so I spent a lot of time in this building."
Clarke flushed with pride, although she wasn't sure whether it was for her father, who'd set up the scholarship program, or for Bellamy, who'd been clever enough to earn one.
Here, she mused, was another connection between them. One Bellamy would have to remain completely unaware of.
"So is this where you hatched the master plan for your cafe?" she asked teasingly.
He laughed. "The cafe as it is now isn't quite my dream."
"No? Then what is?"
He paused for a moment and then shrugged. "Got a little more time?"
As soon as she said, "Sure," he pulled away from the curb, and in a few moments they were back at the cafe.
"I hadn't realized how close you are to the university," she said in surprise as he unlocked the door and then relocked it behind them.
Bellamy gave her a lopsided smile.
"Yeah, that was either my brilliant marketing scheme to get a lot of student customers... or the fact that the rent was cheap."
He led her through the empty cafe to a back room that had been fitted out as a sort of sitting room. Off that room was another door that, when he opened it, seemed to lead to a vast empty space in which she could see nothing but dirt and cobwebs.
"This right here," he told her, "this is my dream."
Bellamy smirked at what she was sure must have been the horrified expression on her face.
"Don't worry. I won't make you go in there. The place is a pigsty right now. I just wanted you to see how much space there was that's not being used for anything."
"And what kind of plans do you have for that space?" she asked, catching on immediately.
"Here, have a seat," he said, closing the door to the vast dirty room and waving her onto a dilapidated couch in the sitting room. "That's more comfortable than it looks. I slept there plenty of nights right after I opened this place."
He slid onto the couch beside her before he began to answer her question.
"After I got my management degree, the thing I really wanted to do was to open my own business. And the only thing I was any good at was making a decent cup of coffee, so I figured this was a good place to start."
Clarke laughed. "Well, it seems to have turned out fine."
He shrugged. "I'm doing okay, I guess. My biggest problem right now is that I sometimes have a hard time getting decent coffee beans. So it occurred to me that I could solve my problem if I just roasted my own beans. Then I thought... why stop there, just with my own cafe? Why not set up a sort of craft coffee roasting business, kind of like all those craft breweries that are so popular right now? If I had a good enough product - and I'd make sure I did - I bet I could sell my beans to some of the other independent coffee shops around the city. Or... maybe even outside the city."
As he related his plans and dreams to her, Clarke saw his face light with enthusiasm. Her encouraging smile was immediate and sincere.
"That's a great idea! I think you should do it!"
Bellamy snorted. "Yeah, if only it were that simple. Somehow the banks don't seem to think they should give me the loan I need to get started on the strength of a carefully-crafted business plan plus my personal enthusiasm." He shrugged. "Maybe I'll try again once the cafe is more established."
Clarke frowned. Surely a way could be found. Maybe she could talk to... someone.
"But, Bellamy..."
He sighed and shook his head. "I'll figure it out, Clarke. Right now, I really don't want to waste this time with you just talking about my pie-in-the-sky plans."
She was unprepared for his abrupt change of subject.
"So... what about you? If you're not an artist, then what do you do before you magically appear at my place every day? Where do you disappear to at night?"
She hesitated, ducking her head, wondering if this was the moment she should come clean. But when she looked back at him, Bellamy was gazing at her so fondly that her courage failed her.
"On second thought," he said, shifting the subject again, "I don't care what magic brings you here. I only care that you are here."
So the conversation moved on then, and soon they were talking about things that had nothing at all to do with his plans or her personal life, and everything to do with their values and their perspectives. Clarke was somehow unsurprised to find that she'd never met another person with whom she was so in tune.
The minutes flew by, becoming hours, and when they eventually found themselves sitting very close indeed, the inevitable pull and tug of attraction began to envelop them. Clarke looked up to find Bellamy staring at her with such intensity that she stopped cold right in the middle of a sentence. Suddenly, she could scarcely breathe.
He reached out and gently stroked his hand through her shining hair and down across the edge of her cheek.
"Clarke," he breathed, his voice barely a whisper. "I'd really like to kiss you."
"And I'd really like you to," she told him, finding her voice again.
The first kiss was shy, hesitant, uncertain. But the next was much more sure, and full of wonder that in all the world, they had somehow found each other. As the kissing intensified, becoming more and more passionate, Clarke's heart filled with longing.
Why couldn't she just let herself be with this man? Pretend for one afternoon that she was just an ordinary girl?
But she already knew the answer. It wouldn't be fair. Especially to Bellamy.
When she pulled back suddenly, leaving his embrace, Bellamy looked at first startled, and then chagrined.
"Clarke, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed you like that."
"No, no, Bellamy! I want you just as much. It's just... there are some things you don't know. Things I need to explain."
He stared at her warily. "You're not married, are you? Or... involved with someone else?"
"No," she assured him hastily, "nothing like that. But we can't... it wouldn't be fair to you."
She was struggling to find the right words when a faint bonging sound from the enormous clock on the palace tower told her that it was already six o'clock. Clarke jumped up, suddenly realizing she was so much later then usual that her mother must be frantic with worry. Especially since she was out on her own, with no security.
"I'm sorry. I just... I really have to leave. But I'll come back tomorrow, and then I can explain ... everything."
Bellamy frowned, gazing up at her uncertainly. "So you'll definitely be back?"
"Tomorrow," she reiterated, before bending down to give him one brief, final kiss. And then she was out the door, afraid that if she stayed even one second longer she'd be unable to leave at all.
XXXXXXXXXX
Queen Abby had been so concerned about her whereabouts that the following day Clarke found it was not quite so easy to leave the palace as it had been.
First, she was subjected to close interrogation about her visits into the city, but eventually her mother accepted (the lie) that Clarke was still searching for the queendom's award-winning coffee. But then, just when she thought she was going to escape at last, the queen put her foot down about Clarke traveling around the city without security.
"That's ridiculous, Mom," Clarke tried to protest. "This is a safe city. You've made sure of that."
But the queen would not budge.
"I give you a lot of freedom, Clarke. More than the princesses of Polis or Azgeda. But when you stay out all day without even a call, I worry. This way, at least I know you're safe."
And as much as Clarke fumed and fussed, her mother held firm.
So by the time Miller was rounded up to pull out the royal limo, and then they made their way sedately across the city, it was hours later than Clarke had been used to arriving at Beans.
At least she was able to prevail on Miller to park a block away from the entrance to the alley. It helped that she and her driver were old friends who used to play together when Miller's father was the royal chauffeur.
Which is why Miller didn't stand on ceremony.
"What the hell are you up to, Clarke?" he asked when she quickly opened the door almost before he'd pulled up to the curb. "I feel like I should probably follow you or something."
"Please don't, Nate," she said hastily. "I promise you I'm okay."
He frowned. "But there's something you're not telling me. Or Queen Abby."
She shrugged. "Do you tell your dad everything?"
Miller laughed. "Point taken. Make sure you call me at least once an hour or I'll come looking for you."
"I will," she promised, scrambling out of the limo at last. And now very late indeed.
Clarke hurried down the block, and was nearly running by the time she rounded the corner into the alley. She stopped short, breathless, at the cafe door, taking some time to pull herself together, smoothing her hair and clutching her sketchbook firmly.
And then she pulled open the door.
It was nearly noon and the place was full, even her usual table having been taken over by the lunchtime crowd. But Clarke wasn't looking at the crowd, or the tables, or even the coffee. She was looking for Bellamy, finding him at last at one end of the counter, talking to a dark-haired girl who looked so much like him that she could only be the sister she'd heard so much about. Octavia.
He looked up just as she spotted him, and Clarke could see the welcome in his eyes and in his brilliant smile.
Clarke returned the smile as she hurried over, words of apology already on her lips.
"Sorry I'm so late..."
But that was as far as she got before Bellamy's sister interrupted.
"Wait a minute!" She wheeled on her brother, who was still happily distracted by Clarke's sudden appearance. "This is her, Bell? This is the girl you've been talking about all week? The one you've fallen for?"
Clarke saw Bellamy's quick blush, but he was still smiling.
"Yeah, this is her, O. This is Clarke..."
"Yeah, I know who she is, but I'm pretty damn sure you don't!"
When her gaze shifted from her brother to Clarke, Octavia's expression was anything but friendly.
"What the fuck are you trying to pull here? Just having some fun making a fool of my brother?"
"O!" The smile left Bellamy's face, and was replaced by a look of shock. "What the hell are you doing?"
"I'm watching your back, big brother. Protecting you from this harpy who's been playing with your head."
"Harpy?" As Bellamy became more and more perplexed, Clarke began to die inside. Because she knew exactly what was about to happen.
Why the hell didn't I tell him?
"Bell, meet Princess Clarke." Octavia was still on a roll. "Royal daughter of Queen Abby. And the woman who's been having you on."
Bellamy's jaw dropped as his head jerked towards her. "Is this true, Clarke?"
"Bellamy..."
"Is it true?"
Octavia interrupted before Clarke could answer. "Of course it's true. She's probably got her royal limo waiting outside."
Bellamy's eyes never left Clarke's face. "Royal limo? You told me you took the bus here. That your sketchbook got in the way of the other passengers." His eyes narrowed. "Was that all just a lie? Something you made up because it sounded... I don't know... real?"
"I did take the bus... every day but this one." Clarke could hear her voice rising as she became frantic in her need to explain. "But I was so late yesterday that today my mother insisted..."
"Her mother Queen Abby..." Octavia interrupted again with a sneer.
Clarke didn't know what to say, how to explain. It was all true... and yet it wasn't.
Her voice ground to a halt and silence fell, until finally Bellamy asked quietly, his voice hollow, "O's right, then. You are the royal princess."
Clarke sighed, knowing she had nowhere to go but the truth. "Yes," she said, her voice small, her eyes pleading. "That's what I was going to tell you today."
Bellamy stared at her for a moment and then his face closed, shutting her out.
"It doesn't matter that you were going to tell me, Clarke. You still made me think that there was something between us. And that there could be something more. When you know damn well it isn't true."
"Please, Bellamy. It is true."
"Right," he said, biting off the word. "I think I've heard of that one. 'The princess and the barista'. Except I don't live in a fairy tale."
Before Clarke could say another word, Bellamy had dragged off his apron and tossed it to Octavia.
"Do you think you could watch the shop for me today, O? And give this customer whatever she wants because I'm sure it'll be her last visit here."
And then he was gone, headed for the back room. The very place Clarke had realized only the day before how much he'd come to mean to her.
Octavia looked at her with hard eyes. "Can I get you anything before you get the hell out?"
But Clarke was nearly incapable of speech.
"Tell him I'm sorry," she choked out, holding herself together by the barest thread as she turned and walked out the door.
She made it all the way to the limo before she burst into tears.
"What the hell is wrong, Clarke?" Miller asked, tossing aside the tablet he'd been amusing himself with.
"Just take me home," she said, stone-faced, as soon as the quick storm of tears had passed. "I don't want to talk about it."
XXXXXXXXXX
Clarke had been holed up in her rooms for three days by the time Raven came banging on her door.
"Open up right now, Clarke, or I swear to god I'm going to have this door taken down. And you know I can do it. You may have the queen bamboozled with this bullshit about finishing some drawing or other, but I know damn well you're in there sulking about something."
For just a second, Clarke considered calling Raven's bluff, seeing if she'd follow through on her threat. But really, what was the point? Instead, she dragged herself from the window where she'd been dispiritedly sketching and unlocked the door to her suite.
"You happy now?" she asked, skulking back to her window seat and peering up at Raven. "I thought you were supposed to be my First Friend-in-Waiting."
Raven studied her intently and then she frowned.
"I am your friend, Clarke, but I'm tired of waiting. So why don't you just tell me what the hell is wrong."
Clarke was tempted to just spill it all, but what good would that do? There was nothing she could do about it... or anyone else for that matter.
But when Raven snatched the sketchbook out of her lap before Clarke could stop her, she knew her secret was out.
"Well, now, who is this?" Raven asked, flipping over page after page of sketches of Bellamy. Most of them she'd drawn during those long days in the cafe, and they showed him smiling as he worked. But the last few were drawn from memory, and it had not been a happy one. Clarke hadn't been able to get that look of pain and betrayal on Bellamy's face out of her head.
"It's... just someone I met."
"Just someone you met. Right. I'd say it's someone you spent a lot of time with, from all these drawings," Raven said, her voice soft. "Does this... does he... have anything to do with your hunt for the best coffee? Did you finally find one you loved?"
Clarke felt empty inside as she nodded. "Yes, I found a coffee that I loved. Problem is... I also fell in love with the coffee maker."
"Ah! Well, that does complicate things. And what about him? Does he... whatever his name is... feel the same?"
Clarke shrugged. "His name is Bellamy and... I think he did feel the same. Until he found out who I was a few days ago. And now he hates me."
"Clarke, I'm so sorry. But you can fix this..."
"I can't fix it! Don't you get it? I'm never going to be able to be with Bellamy. I'm going to be forced to marry one of the hideous princes or earls or dukes that my mother's been shoving in my face for years!"
"Why?"
"What?" What the hell did Raven mean?
"Hey, you're gonna be queen someday, right? The one in charge? Tell your mother you're changing the rules and you're not gonna marry one of those guys. I mean, it is the 21st century, even here in Arkadia."
Clarke sat there for a moment, stunned. Could she really just... change the rules? Was it as easy as that?
Then her shoulders slumped. "It doesn't matter. Bellamy would never agree to a relationship with a princess, much less one who's going to be queen someday.
Raven shrugged, smirking. "You never know. It would certainly help him sell more coffee."
And that was the moment it hit Clarke, right between the eyes. Bellamy's coffee. She was pretty sure there was no way to fix things between them, but she could damn well get his fabulous coffee the recognition it deserved.
Wasn't that exactly what she'd started out to do anyway?
"That's it," she said, leaping up, wrapping Raven in a quick hug. And then she was running for the door.
"Come on, First Friend. We have a Royal Seal Ceremony to plan."
XXXXXXXXXX
Most ceremonies for the bestowing of the Royal Seal were held at the palace. This one, Clarke decided, was going to be different. She wasn't giving Bellamy even the smallest chance of turning it down out of pique or pride, when she knew damn well how much he deserved it. And how much it would help his business.
So one bright sunny day a mere week after Raven had given her the idea, Clarke descended on Beans without any warning, complete with the Royal Ceremonial Team as well as camera crews and tv reporters.
And Raven.
"Hey, I'm not missing this," Raven had declared, although she was ordinarily all too eager to bug out on anything that smacked of pomp and ceremony. But not this time. "I can't wait to meet the guy who stole Princess Clarke's heart."
Clarke finally agreed, because Raven's presence would be the least of her problems.
She chose the noon hour on a Wednesday for the ceremony, looking for a moment of maximum cafe patronage as well as maximum publicity for the event. She also decided she'd be damned if she going to downplay her royal title. Princess Clarke of Arkadia was who she was, and there was little point in trying to hide it.
"Are you sure about this?" Raven asked, when she saw Clarke donning one of her smaller crowns.
But Clarke pinned the crown into place determinedly.
"A crown is always worn when presenting the Royal Seal," she said, squaring her shoulders. "I refuse to be ashamed of who I am."
Soon after, the royal caravan rolled sedately across the city, and this time Miller pulled up close to the alley. But it would have been impossible to get any car down that narrow space, and certainly the royal limo would never fit. So the patrons - and the proprietor - of Beans had had no warning at all when the cafe door suddenly burst open and an avalanche of reporters, cameras, and royal retainers began pouring into the cafe.
The last to enter was the royal personage herself, Princess Clarke of Arkadia, accompanied by her First Friend-in-Waiting.
As she stepped through the door, Clarke worked hard at not giving in to the nerves that threatened to swamp her senses. But she couldn't keep her eyes from darting around the room, searching for Bellamy.
He was waiting on a customer in the furthest corner, with his back to the door. So it must have been the way his customers all stopped talking at once that alerted him that something unusual was happening. When he turned and saw who was in his doorway, the color seemed at first to leech from his face, and then he flushed pink when he realized that not only had Princess Clarke returned, but she'd brought a small army with her.
"What's going on?" he asked, staring, his voice just slightly huskier and fainter than normal. "Why are you here?"
For just a moment, Clarke wasn't sure she could speak, but then all those years of "princess training" came to the fore, and she stepped forward into the middle of the room.
"We're here to present Beans and its proprietor Bellamy Blake with the Royal Seal," she proclaimed. "Making your coffee the official coffee of the realm. Congratulations."
There was a moment of stunned silence, and then pandemonium ensued, as Bellamy's loyal customers cheered and stamped and whistled their approval.
"Way to go, Bellamy!" "Great job!" "You deserve it!"
As soon as the noise died down, Clarke turned towards him and said, "If you would come forward, uh, Mr. Blake, I need to fasten the, er, official seal around your neck."
Bellamy stood motionless, as if he was in a trance, but then Octavia prodded him, at the same time whipping off his ever-present apron.
"You're not getting a Royal Seal while wearing an apron!" she hissed.
And then he was suddenly standing right in front of her, not a foot away, and Clarke couldn't seem to look anywhere else. Their eyes locked and held for several long seconds.
"Clarke!" Raven whispered frantically, poking her with the large blue box that contained the Royal Seal.
Clarke finally dragged her eyes away from Bellamy, removed the seal and ribbon from its box, and stretched up to fasten it around his neck.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked quietly, like the words had been torn from him.
She was startled and fumbled with the clasp. "I told you your coffee was great," she reminded him. "That it was award-winning."
He said nothing more as she struggled to secure the clasp, while her heart thrummed at his nearness. Clarke sighed with relief when she finally managed it, but before she could step back, Bellamy spoke again.
"I knew you liked my coffee." He bit out the words, his voice so soft only she could hear. "But why did you have to pretend to like me, too?"
Her eyes flew to his and she saw the hurt there, and hated that she was responsible for it. Clarke knew this might be her only chance to tell him the truth.
And she took it.
"There was never any pretense," she whispered fiercely, her voice equally soft and low. "I liked you more than anyone I'd ever met." Clarke took a deep breath. "I still do."
"But... you're a princess." His eyes widened in disbelief.
"And a woman," she insisted quietly, knowing she had to get it all out before her courage failed her. "Capable of falling in love just like anyone else."
And then she stepped back, away from the new Royal Barista, as the room erupted in thunderous applause.
One of the reporters shoved a mic in Bellamy's face. "Is there anything you'd like to say, Mr. Blake."
"Thank you," he said, his voice low. But he wasn't looking at the reporter, or the camera. Or even paying much attention to the heavy seal that was now hanging from his neck. Instead, he was staring straight at Clarke.
When she saw the look on his face, she began to tremble inside, and knew she had to get out of there quickly. She gathered as much of her royal dignity as she could muster and swept out the door, feeling his eyes on her every step of the way.
Clarke knew she'd done everything she could to let Bellamy know how much she valued him. How much she cared about him. How much she wanted him. Anything else - if there was ever to be an anything else - would have to be up to him.
As the royal caravan returned to the palace at the same sedate pace, she prayed she would not have to wait very long.
XXXXXXXXXX
In the end, she waited ten days. Ten agonizing days when she was sure he would never come. Although in her head the reason for his silence changed from day to day.
He didn't believe that she loved him.
He didn't want to get involved with a princess.
Or - worst of all- he simply didn't love her.
The days she was sure all three were true were the most difficult days of all.
But on the tenth day, near the noon hour, there was a rap on the door to her rooms. When Clarke opened it, she found Miller rather than someone from the house staff, and that in itself was unusual.
"Nate! What's up? Have you been demoted to footman or something?"
Miller wasted no time on long-winded explanations.
"He's here, so get your ass in gear."
Clarke's mind and body both seemed to come to a dead stop.
"Who's here?" She needed to be absolutely sure before she could let herself hope even a little.
"Who do you think? The Royal Barista himself. Raven and Queen Abby are talking to him in the back gardens."
"Queen... Mom? He's talking to Mom?"
She knew she should have told her mother the truth. When would she learn?
But Miller just laughed. "She's the queen, Clarke. She knows stuff. Or maybe she just heard about the odds being thrown around on whether Mr. Blake would actually have the balls to show up here. I'm about to win a lot of money."
Shit! They all knew.
Clarke gasped as she geared up to lace into Miller, but he'd already turned to leave.
"Get down to the gardens and rescue him, Princess," he tossed back with a wave of his hand.
She rushed from her rooms and down the stairs, and it was only her princess training that kept her from racing headlong through the double doors and out to the back gardens. Instead, she forced herself to open the doors ever so gently and keep her footsteps firmly - and royally - sedate.
But nothing could have stopped the happy little fizz that bubbled in her chest when she saw Bellamy strolling along the garden path. Nor the happiness that filled her when he looked up and saw her, giving her a tentative smile.
"There you are at last, Clarke," Queen Abby said as soon as she spotted her daughter. "You have a visitor."
Clarke felt a quick burst of affection when she saw that not only had Bellamy finally turned up at the palace, but he'd clearly made an effort with his appearance. She was pretty sure he'd have nothing like a suit in his wardrobe, but he'd left his customary jeans and t-shirt at home, and was dressed in khakis and a button-down shirt. He'd even cut his hair.
"I think we should leave Clarke to her guest, Raven," the queen said. Raven nodded, and the two of them turned to head back into the palace.
As they passed her, Raven gave Clarke an encouraging smile and a discreet thumbs up, while Abby stopped for just a moment to whisper in her daughter's ear.
"I wonder why you never told me that the new Royal Barista was so handsome," she murmured, patting Clarke on the shoulder. Then she smirked. "On second thought, perhaps I don't wonder at all."
And then they were gone and Clarke was standing in the palace's back gardens not two feet from Bellamy Blake, and that felt like nothing less than a miracle.
"Hello," she said softly. "It's good to see you."
His shoulders seemed to relax then, as though he hadn't been altogether sure of his welcome.
"You, too," he said, and his smile became even warmer and, it seemed to her, more personal.
Her heart began to beat wildly.
"Would you like to see more of the garden?" For instance, the areas that can't be overseen by a casual observer inside the palace?
Of course, that last part was not uttered aloud.
"Sure," he said quietly. "Lead the way."
And so she did, twisting along the paths until she came to her favorite spot, the place she nearly always went to when she wanted to be alone. She'd spent a lot of time there in the past ten days, thinking about the man walking beside her. Dreaming he'd come.
And now he was here.
When they reached her favorite bench, she invited him to sit, because Clarke wasn't really sure her shaky legs would carry her much longer. Not until she knew why he'd come.
As soon as they were both seated, Bellamy turned to her and said immediately, "I wanted to thank you, and also to ask if maybe you'd, uh, called the bank."
"The bank?" And then she understood. "No, Bellamy, I'd never do that without asking you first."
He nodded. "I figured. I guess it really was all the publicity then. Because Mr. Sinclair, the same guy who'd turned down my loan last month, called me the day after I, um, got the seal. Said if my coffee was good enough for the royal family, then he thought maybe I was a good prospect after all. That they could lend me the money. So, I've already bought the building and started making renovations. I can't believe it's all happened so fast."
He shrugged. "But I suppose that's why everyone wants royal approval."
"It's all happening because you deserve it," Clarke insisted. "Not because of anything I did."
"Maybe," he said, smiling the crooked smile that was already one of Clarke's favorites. "But getting the Royal Seal certainly didn't hurt. Even Octavia could see that."
Clarke laughed. "Octavia's good opinion is certainly unexpected... but welcome."
"Yeah," he nodded, his lips curling into a smirk. "Octavia definitely has her own ideas. For instance, she told me I was crazy to come up here. Said I should just write you a letter."
"So then why have you come?" Clarke blurted out, unable to hold it in any longer. "Octavia's right. You could have sent me a note. Instead you came yourself."
"Ever the direct Clarke," he said, sounding unsurprised. "Except, of course, about that one thing."
"I'm so sorry, Bellamy..." she leaped into speech, desperate to explain, but he cut her off with a shake of his head.
"No need to say anything, Clarke."
"Yes, there is! Because I really wanted to tell you. Especially," she paused, sighed, "especially that last day. But I thought if I did you might look at me differently, because everyone always does. So I was... afraid."
"Afraid?" Bellamy seemed to be holding his breath.
"Afraid you wouldn't be able to care about me once you... knew who I was."
"Clarke!" Bellamy reached out to grab both her hands. "Don't you know it's way too late for that? I really... right now, I just need to know one thing. Did you mean what you said when you put the seal around my neck?"
"What I said?"
"About... falling in love. Because if you didn't mean it, then I'm still grateful for the seal and I'll just throw myself into my new business and try to get over you..."
Using his hands as leverage, Clarke slid along the smooth surface of the bench until there was no space between them at all.
"Please don't get over me, Bellamy," she whispered, "because I don't know how I would ever be able to get over you."
"Good." His voice was soft, his heart in his eyes. "Because what I really want is for us to be together forever."
And then she was kissing him, and he was responding most enthusiastically, with hands and arms and lips. Soon, it was all Clarke could do to remember where they were.
He groaned when she pulled away.
Her lips curved into an apologetic smile "We're in the royal gardens, Bellamy. I do owe it to Mom to be a little discreet."
Bellamy closed his eyes then, and hung his head. Like he'd just suddenly remembered. "The queen! She's never gonna go for this. Never gonna approve us being together."
"I don't need or care about her approval. I'm going to tell her about us as soon as you leave."
"Nope." He shook his head. "We do it together. I want to make sure she understands it's Clarke I love, and not the princess."
Clarke nodded, thrilled by his words and his pluck. "Okay then," she said, "no time like the present."
They found Queen Abby in her office, and when they entered Clarke thought she didn't seem at all surprised to see them.
"So did you hear about Bellamy's plans, Clarke? They sounded quite exciting. I don't think we have any other craft coffee businesses in the realm."
"I did, Mom. And now we want to tell you about some other plans."
When Abby nodded that she was listening, Bellamy jumped in before Clarke could continue.
"I want to marry Clarke," he blurted quickly. "I love her very much, and just so you know I loved her before I ever had any idea who she was. And, uh, that's about all, Queen Abby. Ma'am. Your Majesty. Uh..."
"Well, that seems very clear, Bellamy." She turned to her daughter. "And do you want to marry the Royal Barista, Clarke?"
"That's my plan, Mom." Clarke looked her straight in the eye, wording her response not as a request but as a clear intent.
Abby nodded again. "I see. Well, since you've rejected everyone I've ever presented to you as a marriage prospect, I suppose I should be grateful you've found anyone you want to marry at all."
"Thank you, Mom..." Clarke began, relieved that her mother was being so reasonable.
But Abby was not through.
"Still, I can't possibly let you marry someone without a title. You are, after all, the Princess."
Clarke's relieved smile slid into a frown, and beside her she could feel the tension radiating off Bellamy.
"You're not going to have much choice..." she interrupted coolly.
Abby waved her hand. "Manners, Clarke," she reminded her gently, and Clarke sputtered to a halt.
Then the queen turned to scrutinize Bellamy.
"I thought that perhaps... Arabica would do."
"Arabica?" Clarke frowned in confusion.
"It's a coffee bean, Clarke," Bellamy muttered beside her. "Many consider it the very best variety of coffee bean."
"Indeed," Abby agreed. "And it's also going to be your new title. Duke of Arabica. I think it has a nice ring to it."
"But... we have no lands in the realm called Arabica," Clarke reminded her mother, puzzled.
"Oh, pish, tosh," Abby waved the objection away with the flutter of a hand. "Who says a dukedom has to be named for lands? I'll just change the duke-naming rules. After all," she reminded Clarke with narrowed eyes, "weren't you about to change some rules yourself?"
Clarke had always been excellent at knowing when it was time to beat a hasty retreat.
"We'll just be going now," she said, grabbing Bellamy's hand. "Gonna check with the Royal Chamberlain about wedding dates."
"You do that," the queen called after them, as Clarke closed the door.
"Are we really going to see the Chamberlain right now?" Bellamy asked, surprised.
"Not quite yet," Clarke explained with a small smile, cocking her head towards the stairs. "First, I thought you might be interested in seeing my rooms."
Bellamy grinned, bending down to give her a brief but very thorough kiss. "That sounds much more appealing."
XXXXXXXXXX
When Bellamy Blake, Duke of Arabica, renamed his business, there were many in the realm who thought he'd done it in honor of his new wife. Others were sure it was to celebrate marrying into the royal family. And still others were certain it was a pointed little reminder to his customers that the formerly plain Mr. Blake had now joined the aristocracy.
All of them were wrong.
"I don't understand people," Bellamy complained to his wife as they lay in bed one night soon after the new sign went up. "Royal Beans is about the coffee, not about me. Arabica is the most robust bean there is. It should get special billing."
"Arabica is certainly very robust," Clarke agreed happily, stroking her hand across his broad chest. "In fact, I'm hoping you're not too tired to go again."
.