The war against Rybayn was over, and the country was at unrest. Desperate negotiations had led to a build in tension in the north that the south had seen as a mere inconvenience – until it became much more than that. Until it led to the assassination of the king.

Clarke hadn't seen it coming. No one had – she hoped. The north was known for its general grumbling, being the section of Arkadia that was worst hit by the war, but organised (however messily) treason on such a scale had been unheard of.

A day of mourning was traditional for when a monarch had passed. It was a blackout; no candles were to be lit, so as to not mislead the soul from its ascension. Clarke hadn't left her room. She had no intention of being subjected to endless expressions of pity, which had been bad enough when her uncle had passed away. All too many "I'm ever so sorry for your loss, my lady"s from various Lords so they might win themselves a promotion with their grovelling. If they were so sorry for her loss, perhaps they would've tried harder to prevent another.

Her mother hadn't visited, either. Not that she'd expected it. In times of need, it would be her father who would console her, whilst her mother would offer a hug and light words after the worst was over, possibly along the lines of, "You have to be strong and set a good example for your people."

By Clarke's orders, no one else could visit, and she had been surrounded only by darkness as she sobbed for her loss. The little freedom she had left was to be given away at her coronation, which she knew would come about one day without her father's attendance, but not so soon. Not when she was only just turning eighteen.

Clarke lay in bed two days after she watched her father die. Heavy curtains sheltered her from the piercing sun as the painful memory repeated itself in her mind, as though there were no off button. She supposed she would've stayed like that for the rest of the day had it not been for Raven.

The door opened, shut, and suddenly light streamed into the room to invaded Clarke's eyes. She groaned, turning onto her front. "Shut. Them."

"Nope," Raven returned. "Come on, apparently you have stuff to do. A princess can't deny her duties, after all."

"I can do what I want."

"Tell your mother that. She's the one who sent me here."

Clarke turned over and peeled off the duvet from her body. Raven, her personal maid, stood expectantly in front of her, holding a long, black dress. Clarke's stomach pulled at the darkness of it – mourning. Loss. The last time she had to wear a black dress was after her uncle died. And now it was her father.

Raven's eyes softened. She hung the dress up in the wardrobe carefully and sat next to Clarke. "These next few weeks are gonna be tough, you know that. You also know that I'm here for you through every minute, and if you need someone, I'll be there."
"Thanks, Raven. You could be less of an ass though, in general."

Raven gasped. "This is scandalous! To think the princess would say such unladylike things."

"Just dress me, Reyes."

Clarke didn't reach the dining room on time, but it was all the same to her mother, who sat with one leg over the other with a glass of wine in her hand. Fruits and breads decorated a platter sat in the middle of the table, but there was no dish in front of her mother. Instead, a piece of parchment had been placed in front of her with an ink pot and quill beside it. Clarke immediately knew what was to come, and couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed.

"Good morning, Clarke. Glad you could join me," Abby greeted with a smile and took a sip of her wine.

Taking the seat opposite her mother, Clarke observed her goblet already having been filled, and began to load her plate with an array of fruits. "If I'd have had a choice in it, I'm sure I would be as well."

"You always have a choice, Clarke, and now you're to be the queen, your choices are the most important of all."

Clarke pursed her lips. "And I assume this is what you called me here for."

"Yes. There are quite a few things I have to discuss with you. Clarke, you're next in line. How this country moves forward is now up to you. I can advise you, but you make the final decision. I will go through the affairs, you can decide on what you'll have done about them, but it will not be official until the first council meeting. This allows time for you to think over your choices to make sure you want to go through with them."

Nodding her head, Clarke takes a sip of her wine and savours it. The weight of the world, it seemed, really did rest on her shoulders, and whilst she had help, she couldn't help but feel as though she was walking into a pitch black cave without a torch. "So these decisions, what are they concerning?"

"Well, the first would be your protection. After the recent events and rise in the rebellion, it is now a must for you to have additional protection than just the royal guards, which is why I have arranged for you to have a personal guard."

"A personal guard." Clarke narrowed her eyes, looking down at the red liquid in her goblet. She would be completely stripped of her privacy, but her more reasonable half argued that it wasn't as bad as being stripped of her life. She looked to her mother once more. "The guard who saved my life from the rebels – I'll only accept her for the position. No one else."

Abby nodded and picked up the quill, dipped it into the ink and noted this down. She then gestured for the servant to come forward.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Inform Lord Marcus Kane that he will be going over the basics for our most popular guard."
He nodded his head and left, leaving Clarke and Abby to themselves.

Abby looked back to Clarke. "The next matter is of our location. Eryndale is a fine city, but the rebellion burns only in the north. It might be our best choice to move now back to the capital."

Clarke pondered this. "I would be safer, yes, but I don't want one of my first actions leading up to my coronation to be a retreat. I want to be strong for my people, and if I can't risk my own life, how can I ask for them to risk theirs? We're staying here until I have stopped the rebellion."

For only a moment Abby hesitated, then noted her choice down underneath the other. "So that leads to the next on our list: the coronation. We can't leave the people suspended with no ruler for too long, it will help feed the rebel cause. However, the coronation would have to take place in the capital by tradition. That means you have little time to stop the traitors unless you're willing to leave Eryndale before it's over."

"That will be fine. The rebellion will be over quickly. I'll have all the troops in the north locating and executing rebels from village to village if need be. With the fine skill of the army, we won't have to stay here for much longer until the threat dies out and we can celebrate my coronation and the end of the rebellion together."

Abby noted two lines down with a furrowed brow before the final decision had to be made. "The two traitors have been starved in the dungeon for the past two days, and the public is waiting for justice. What shall be done with them?"

"Hanged. Tomorrow. I want them dead as soon as possible for everyone to see."

"I agree, but that's quite a light execution. A beheading may be favoured, or to burn them at the stake."

"The message will be conveyed if the death is monstrous or not. My father didn't see a need for harsh executions, and nor will I."

"But your father wasn't feared, Clarke. That was why-"

Clarke stood. "I don't want to be feared by my people, and I don't want you to try to advise against my decisions using my father. I don't want you to even mention him in my presence again. Will that be all?" Clarke asked, challenging her through gritted teeth.

Placing the quill down carefully, Abby failed to meet Clarke's piercing stare. "The funeral will be the day after the hanging."

Clarke straightened herself and hastily walked away without another word.

Tears had long since been washed away by the time there was a knock at the door. After meeting with her mother, Clarke had fled back to her bedroom. It had been a few hours, and despite eventually becoming quite hungry, her stubbornness kept her from leaving her room. She hadn't intended on reverting to her state of the previous day, but she found herself there anyway, and wondered if she even deserved to be the leader of her country if she wasn't strong enough.

She scowled at her reflection. The mirror revealed her slightly unkempt blonde hair, the dress that screamed death she'd been tempted to take off, and ran her fingers quickly through tresses. There was another knock.

Hesitating slightly, Clarke walked to the door and found Lord Marcus Kane, former adviser king and his best friend, on the other side.

"Sorry for disturbing you, your majesty," Marcus began, but was interrupted by Clarke.

"Please don't call me that. Not privately, anyway. Clarke, as usual, is fine."

Marcus nodded. "Of course. I thought you might be interested in meeting your new personal guard."

Clarke's eyebrows raised slightly. "I am," she closed the door behind her, "is she ready?"

"Nearly," Marcus told her as they began to walk. "She'll be starting tomorrow, so you'll find her outside your door in the morning. Now, the council meeting is tomorrow morning. You'll have to choose an advisor, eventually, but you have as much time as you need."

"So this is my mother's way of telling me without having to do it herself?"

"Abby cares about you a lot, you know that, and a strong family bond is needed to get through difficult times – especially now."

"I've got someone who's helped me through 'difficult times' more than my mother ever has. I'm fine, I don't need her."

"I just think it would be beneficial to everyone if you give her some patience. I know she can be…emotionally distant, perhaps, but it's not because she wants to be." Marcus suggested as he came to a stop outside the Royal Office and turned to Clarke. "She's in there, Clarke. Would you like me to come in with you?"

"No, thank you. It should be fine."

Clarke waited and took a deep breath when her heartbeat quickened. This was the woman who had saved her life two days ago – the woman who will be her shadow for however long it takes for the rebellion to cease. She twisted the door handle and pushed the door open, walking through into the room. In the middle, facing Clarke, was her. A brunette with braided hair and soft green eyes - her saviour.

The silence was only noticed by Clarke when the other woman broke it.

"My name is Lexa, your majesty. It is an honour to serve you." She got down onto one knee and bowed her head. Clarke studied the daggers on her belt, the swords resting against her back. How easy it would be for her to kill anyone in a second, but what amazed her the most was how young she looked compared to the other guards she'd seen.

Clarke observed her for a moment before she spoke. "You may rise." She was completely taken by the woman – the woman who'd saved her life. She walked towards her, stopping "Thank you."

Lexa lowered her head slightly. "It's my duty, ma'am. I'm only grateful that I'm able to do it."

Clarke smiled faintly. "Where are you from?"

"I was raised in a village near here, farther north."

"We should sit." Clarke nodded walked over to the side of the room and gestured to the sofas. "Please, join me. We should eliminate formalities as soon as possible, really, if we're to be with each other a lot from now."

Lexa nodded and sat. Her posture, Clarke noted, was quite stiff.

"Would you like something to drink?" She asked.

"No, thank you, ma'am."

Clarke took the jug of wine left on her desk and filled a glass with it. "So, what made you travel south to become a royal guard?" She walked over to Lexa and took a seat opposite her.

"Most of my family were soldiers. I suppose it was expected of me to eventually take an interest in the fight, but they didn't expect to find me trying to lift a great sword when I was four years old. And I was quite persistent, so eventually my sister trained me. By the time I was old enough, I decided not to be a part of the war, so I went to the capital instead to serve my King more directly."

Clarke wondered what it had been like with a family full of soldiers. Her former friend, Finn, had been sent off to the army at sixteen and never came back. She gritted her teeth and wiped the memory from her thoughts as she looked to Lexa. "I'm glad you did. I don't know if anyone else could've done what you did…that day. Without you, I'd be dead."

"Really, ma'am, had I not been able to save you, I wouldn't have been chosen to be a royal guard. I assure you, I'm not special."

"Well, as you saved your future queen, you should expect to hear a lot of gratitude. I'm sure you have already."

"Indeed, ma'am, I have." Clarke noticed an upwards curve on the edge of Lexa's mouth.

"It's okay to feel proud of yourself, Lexa. Even if you think what you did can be done by any other guard, you were the one who did it. And for that, I will always be grateful." Clarke glanced at the clock. "It's twelve thirty. I should probably go now." Clarke rose from her chair with her now half-empty cup of wine and Lexa followed.

"Thank you. It was a great privilege to be able to speak with you like this, ma'am. This country is in good hands."

A smile settled onto Clarke's lips. "And so am I, now I have you by my side."

They walked to the door together, and Clarke turned to Lexa once more. "Goodbye for now, Lexa."

Lexa nodded respectfully with her hands clasped in front of her. "I'll be outside your door in the morning if you need me. Have a good day, your majesty." With that, Lexa opened the door for Clarke, who thanked her and walked out.

Marcus greeted Clarke on the other side with a smile, and the pulled the door to a close. "How was it, Clarke?"

"I like her," Clarke admitted. "I'm sure we'll get along just fine."

"Good. Right, I should get back to her. The council meeting is at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. I'll make sure Lexa knows as well."

"Thank you, Marcus. I'll see you tomorrow."

Clarke then walked away towards the blacksmiths with the next day looming in front of her: the day of the hanging. The beginning of her rule.