Part 2
She does not return to the stadium, with the days that follow.
When the servants enter in the morning, pull aside thick red drapes that reveal the humming of early morning, a low groan spills from her lips, and she brings up a hand to shield herself from what is usually a pleasant light, now scathing against her skin.
She moans again, more vocal this time, and three servants dash to her side.
"Princess? Whatever is it that ails you?" The scarcely contained shrillness in the servant's voice makes Clarke wince, and bury herself further within the silk of her ruby covers, the sheer softness of them against her skin, she finds comfort in them, and wishes she could cocoon herself in their chambers.
What a pleasant thing that would be.
The gentle tug on her covers reminds she is still is reality. She surfaces only a little, the light in the room blinding her as she drowsily blinks away the sleep in her eyes.
"I am not feeling in the best of health. Please call for my mo- the empress." Her voice is groggy, strained, as though something scratches against her throat.
The servant that hovers above her head nods, and bows as she leaves, which Clarke waves away, uncomfortable with the show of complete servitude.
Clarke's head collapses into her pillows, her golden hair spraying out behind her like a rising sun, and her eyes glinting like green garnet. She shutters them away, sighing softly. She would not admit to anyone, much less herself, but a tiny part of her, had actually been looking forward to going to the coliseum today. Not for the kills, not for the entertainment, but for the chance of catching a glance of that gladiator again- Bellamy.
Their talk had haunted her thoughts until she'd slept, and yet in rest she found she could still not be free of him, his eyes clouding her dreams, the way he'd fixed her in place with his unyielding gaze. His glaring, hating gaze.
He obviously had no thoughts of her, so why could she not seem to rid herself of these endless, clearly meaningless, thoughts of him?
A sharp coldness knocked her out of her thoughts, she audibly gasped, and looked up to be met with her mother's soft gaze. Oh.
The coolness radiating from her palm is soothing to Clarke's boiling skin, and she leans into her mother's hand. Abby gently smiles, though concern etches its way into her features, as she feels Clarke's warm skin.
"Oh, Clarke, are you feeling unwell my child?" She asks tenderly, moving her hand to touch her daughter's cheek.
"Oh mother, my skin burns as hot as the sun rises in the sky, and my head, it aches so, as though someone has drilled a hole inside of it." Clarke exclaims breathlessly, forgetting herself for a moment, and her mother's accepted title. Abby does not scold her, but offers a sympathetic smile as her daughter lists off her woes.
"Clarke, perhaps it would be better for you to stay-"Abby's voice is kind against Clarke's ears, but is cut off rudely as her father- the Emperor falls into her chambers, pushing roughly against the door.
"Are you unwell?" He asks brusquely, standing stiffly, hovering close to her door, uncomfortable in the foreign space.
Clarke looks back to her mother, who smiles encouragingly, but removes her palm from her cheek, and straightens, walking to go and stand by her father's side.
Jake's eyebrows raise, bobbing his head impatiently. "Well? Are you in ill health?" Clarke pushes her head down, embarrassed at the impatience she has caused him.
"Yes, Emperor. My head- it, it hurts, and my skin, it burns." She does not have the right words, and her clumsy speech makes the reddening on her cheeks grown brighter and warmer.
She does not look up to see him nod quickly. "Very well. You will stay here, until you are in better strengths, and we will look for remedies to cure the illness. Your mother shall accompany me to the coliseum today." He orders, and while Clarke nods, (clenching her fists under the sheets all the while βhe never simply asks) Abby turns to look at her betrothed.
"Oh I shall, shall I?" She asks, uncaring of the servant presence that looks on in quiet shock, and the cold eyes Jake turns on her.
"Yes, my dear. You will accompany me." His tone leaves no room for argument, but she still glares at him and 'hmps' as she brushes past him on her way out.
And when Jake finally leaves, despite the pounding in her head and the boiling of her skin, Clare sniggers.
"Raven, please." Clarke begged her most trusted servant- 'servant'- she hated that word β while the dark haired girl pressed a cool towel to her forehead.
"Clarke, this idea of yours is ludicrous, and I refuse to go through with it!" She exclaimed quietly, setting the towel down and crossing her arms over her chest.
Clarke sighed. She'd been locked up in her chambers for an entire week, with only the occasional visit from her father to check on her progress, (she didn't know where her mother was, but she longed for her presence) her doctors to feed her disgusting remedies, and her servants β especially Raven β to keep her company.
She really was coming into better health now, but the doctors still thought her skin was too pale, her eyes still too dull, and though she tried to insist, they would only listen to her father's opinion, who, of course, had ordered another week of bed rest.
She longed for the company of the birds that would circle around the skittering clouds that were painted into the sky, longed to hear the rumbling of sale chatter out on the market, longed to see past these four walls that seemed to trap her like a cage.
Oh, she longed for an escape.
"Raven, if I don't get out soon I fear I will have to take drastic measures. Measures in which I will not ask for your help." She warned, sitting up in bed, rivalling Raven's glare.
They sat there for what seemed like hours, until Raven finally broke, her shoulders slumping, and her fingers reaching up to pull of the headdress that covered the entirety of her face.
"Fine, Clarke, you win. But if we get caught-"
"We won't, we won't." Clarke said, excitement rumbling through her voice. "Now quit chattering, and hand me your veil."
Clarke exited the chambers, almost bouncing with excitement and stopped the servant that went to enter.
"The princess wishes to rest. She asked to not be disturbed for a while. Please make sure no-one goes inside." Clarke said quickly, looking away from the servant. Her blonde curls may have been tucked back, away from view, and her green eyes may have been hidden behind a veil, but Clarke was nothing, if not cautious.
Though the servant nods, and Clarke releases a breath she was very aware she was holding, and makes her way out of the palace, memorizing the path of stone and water as she leaves.
Clarke's expectations of the market were not what she was met with.
She'd always been looking down on the people, smiling and waving as they cheered as her and her father and mother had been carried through the streets, and she'd always loved the sights of the stalls, decorated with such pretty things, she longed to walk through the streets and cradle every single one of them.
Now though, her feet were planted firmly on the ground, and she could no longer see any of the pretty things. People shouted obscenities and hurled insults that Clarke was otherwise innocent to, and she turned away sharply as though the words stung her ears.
She knew the streets well, but with all these people moving along them, she found it hard to navigate, even had trouble keeping herself upright at times.
She eventually begins to shove at the crowds, which to seems to no avail, until something twinkling catches her eye. She turns, and sees a market stool crammed full of bracelets, and necklaces and rings, all different colours. From deep set reds, to fading blues. Though she notices the common trend with them, she notices, is that they are all beautiful.
She moves closer, and sees that what originally drew her to the stand is a winding bracelet, that looks as though it twists from the wrist to the mid fore-arm. It is an off-set bronze in colour, with a single tiny green gem that shines in the sun. It is in the form of a snake's body, with the gem acting as an eye.
She loves it.
"Do you like it?" A girl asks, Clarke looks up to see a girl that looks a couple years her junior, with dark brown hair and eyes that shine as bright as the gem.
"It's- yes, yes I love it." She says, smiling broadly at the girl, and looking down to see she had been cradling the bracelet in her hands.
"Do you wish to buy it, then?" She asks, and Clarke sees she looks hopeful, and she hates that she's about to shatter that.
"I would, I'd love to, I- I just don't have any money." She says, placing the bracelet back down on the black cloth covering the table, and looking up to smile sadly at the girl. She wishes she had thought to bring money, but she'd been so caught up in her excitement, she'd dashed out of the palace walls before she'd had a chance.
The brown-haired girls smile doesn't falter though, and she leans over to pick the bracelet back up and place it back into Clarke's hands, winding her pale fingers around it. She looks up at her in mild shock and confusion, but the girl only smiles brighter, shaking her head.
"A gift. From me to you." She says, and before Clarke can begin to object, she adds on quietly, "Princess."
Clarke looks up in shock, and opens her mouth to exclaim that of course she isn't the princess, it's a ludicrous idea, the princess is sick, in bed, and she's only-
"We met before, when we were children. I don't expect you to remember me, but you were the princess, so how could I forget you?" She asks rhetorically, bringing her head down in an abashed manor.
"Octavia." Clarke says, recalling the little girl with the wild brown locks and the innocent green eyes. Octavia looks up and grins, only just stopping herself from hurling herself across the stall and wrapping her arms around the princess.
The girls chatter for a little while longer, before Octavia has to deal with more looking customers, and Clarke leaves, but only after she promises to pay her back.
Clarke slips the winding bracelet around her wrist, holding her arm up in the sun to study it further. She's grinning to herself when someone yanks on her arm and pulls her into a dark corner.
Her eyes go wide, and she goes to scream, when a tanned hand covers her mouth. She screams anyway, hoping someone will hear it (She knows nobody will).
"It's me." A deep voice mutters against her ear, pulling back to look at her.
She looks up, and is met with the dark eyes that had haunted her dreams nights before.
Bellamy.
Of course.
She glares at him through her veil, she could have his head for this (but she won't), and 'patiently' waits for him to remove his hand.
Instead, he begins to kiss her neck.
She gasps, (what is he doing?), as his hand slips from her mouth and moves to hang around her waist. She knows she should take this opportunity to scream, but he's still kissing her neck, and his lips are warm and it's becoming increasingly harder to keep her focus on pushing him off of her, and not from melting into the warmth and strength of his hands.
His lips continue their scorching trail up her neck, and she feels them inching closer to her own, and she shakes her head, and pushes him away from her, clearing her head of thoughts of him, and replacing them with thoughts of what?
He looks confused, until she rips off her veil.
The colour drains from his face.
"And just what do you think you're doing, gladiator?" She demands, though still breathless from the heat of his lips, and the shock of the situation.
"I didn't- I thought- You're wearing Ravens clothes.. I-"
He shakes his head, still staring at her as if she is some alien concept, and tries to create more distance between them.
"Excuse me, princess." He mutters, and stalks out of the alleyway.
Clarke stared after him, slumped against the wall.
What had just happened?
Don't you worry your pretty little heads, this is no love triangle. Stay tuned!
Review me your thoughts!
