PART TWO: GOLDEN
She falls into her new body. The dizziness still gets her, and she stumbles forward, smudging the paint on the canvas before her, and flicking paint on herself. She glances down to see the damage, and realises she's wearing what looks to be some kind of nineteenth century gown. Its high neck scratches at her chin, and she's wearing a corset so tight she can barely breathe.
"Your Highness," someone says. A dark-haired girl she recognises vaguely rushes to her side. "Are you alright?"
Your Highness?
"I'm okay," Clarke tells her. "Maya," she suddenly remembers. She'd had a couple of classes with her back in her freshman year. Maya nods and retreats back to her own easel. Clarke glances around the room. There are two other women painting beside her, women she doesn't recognise. The room is big and open, the architecture intricate and ornate. Enormous windows face out over a crystal lake, glinting in the sunshine. The subject of her painting.
And if the way Maya had addressed her is anything to go by, apparently, she's royalty of some kind. She clutches her paintbrush tightly, trying to keep a clear head. This world is so completely different from the last two. She has absolutely no idea how Raven or Monty or any of her other friends fit into her life this time, or if they even exist here.
But Bellamy exists. That much she knows, or she wouldn't be here. Somewhere he's out there, a tiny piece of her own Bellamy trapped inside him. She just has to find him.
There's a knock on the door. Clarke hesitates, and glances at Maya. Maya looks at her expectantly.
"Come in," Clarke calls. The huge wooden door opens, and Jasper opens the door. Clarke feels herself grin in relief. Someone she knows properly.
"Your fiancé is here, Your Highness," Jasper says. Clarke looks at him blankly. "For your lunch date," he adds awkwardly.
"Of course," Clarke nods. "Thank you, Jasper."
Jasper nods and retreats, closing the door behind him. Maya and the other women, whom Clarke assumes to be some kind of ladies in waiting, put their brushes down and head for the door. She doesn't appear to be very close with these ladies, and Clarke wonders if she's also a horrible person in this universe, or whether being royalty just doesn't lend itself to making friends.
"Maya," Clarke calls. "Could you wait a moment?"
Maya stops and lets the other ladies exit. Clarke waits until the two of them are alone before she speaks. She needs to ask Maya some questions about this world. She needs to know what she's dealing with, before she goes out there and accidentally gets herself into some kind of situation she can't explain her way out of. It's one thing to act strangely when you're just a university student. When you're royalty, it's a whole other matter.
"My fiancé," Clarke decides to start with. "Do you like him?"
Maya, to her credit, doesn't look at all perturbed by the question. "He seems very nice. And he is very handsome," Maya says. That doesn't tell her much.
"Did I tell you where we're going for lunch?" Clarke tries again.
"You said he was keeping it a surprise," Maya says. Right, of course. Clarke decides this is futile. She does need someone to show her where to go though, as she has no idea where she's supposed to meet her fiancé, or how to get there.
"Will you walk with me to meet him?" Clarke asks. Maya cocks her head in confusion.
"Your bodyguard will walk you there, Your Highness," Maya says. "Bellamy." Clarke's heart clenches. Bellamy. He's here. She nods.
"You can go," Clarke says, dismissing Maya. Maya leaves the door open, and Clarke steps out into the hallway. Standing by the door is Bellamy, and Clarke feels a wave of relief wash over her. She beams at him, and he smiles in return. She has to stop herself from throwing her arms around him. It's probably not normal for a princess, or whatever she is, to hug their bodyguard.
"Ready, Your Highness?" he asks. Clarke nods. For a moment she thinks this will be easy, getting the piece of her Bellamy back. But as she studies this Bellamy, she realises he doesn't have any skin showing, other than his face. He wears a coat with a high collar, and black gloves on his hands. Even if Clarke tried to lunge for his face, she imagines he would be easily able to stop her from zapping him with the Firebird.
He leads her through hallways lined with paintings, lush carpet under feet. She supposes she lives in some kind of palace, being royalty and all. Having a bodyguard also must come with being royalty. She wonders if she's ever been attacked, if he's ever had to protect her, or whether its just a precaution.
"Bellamy?" she says.
"Yes, Princess?"
"What do you think of my fiancé?"
Bellamy glances at her. "He's a good man, Your Highness."
"Would you ever lie to me?"
"Never."
Clarke is pleasantly surprised to find that her fiancé is none other than her childhood friend, Wells. She wonders if they're childhood friends here too. Is he royalty as well? She supposes he must be relatively highborn if they're allowed to be engaged. Or maybe that kind of thing doesn't matter here. She wonders if they're in love.
Wells meets her at the front entrance of the palace, and places a kiss on her cheek.
"Nice to see you," he says. "Shall we go?"
Clarke nods and Wells takes her hand, leading her outside and to a shiny black car. Despite the fact that it seems fashion has not progressed in the last three hundred years, technology has at least come a little further.
Bellamy follows them outside, opening the car door for Clarke before sliding into the front seat. It seems he's required to go everywhere with her. Wells, on the other hand, seems to be without any kind of security.
"Why don't you have a bodyguard?" she asks Wells as the car pulls away from the front of the palace and begins its journey down a long gravel driveway.
"Not this again," he sighs.
"Well, if I have one, shouldn't you have one?" Clarke presses.
"If it makes you happy I'll get one," he says. "But your family is the only one getting death threats."
Clarke grimaces. Are these death threats real concerns, or is it just something people in positions of power have to deal with?
"If we're getting married then you'll be part of this family," Clarke points out. Wells hesitates.
"That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about," he says. He lowers his voice so that he can't be heard by Bellamy or the driver. "I thought about what you said, and I think I'm going to do it."
Clarke stares at him blankly. "What did I say?"
"Elope."
"Elope?"
"Shh! Keep your voice down," Wells says. "You were right. I'm my father's only heir. What's he going to do, disinherit me because I marry someone he doesn't approve of? It will only take him a month or so to get over it. And then we can both be happy."
Clarke wants to ask him who he's eloping with, but it feels like something this Clarke might already know. Wells must take her silence for doubt, because he reaches out to rub her shoulder comfortingly.
"Hey," he says gently. "I know it's harder for you because you haven't found someone else yet. But we both agreed we don't want to marry each other. It isn't fair on either of us. It's just some agreement out parents made when we were born, and we shouldn't have to do whatever they say. We deserve to be happy."
"You're right," she says.
"But we'll still be friends," Wells grins. "And we can still enjoy having lunch together, right?"
"Right," Clarke smiles. She hopes this is what the Clarke of this world wants.
When Clarke enters the dining room that night, she stops dead, seeing who is seated at the head of the table.
"Dad?" she says, her voice cracking. He's alive.
"Hey, Sweetheart," he smiles. She can't stop herself this time. She runs to his side to hug him. He laughs as he hugs her back. "Everything okay?" he asks.
"Everything is perfect," she says. She takes a seat at the table across from her mother.
"I knew your father was your favourite," Abby smiles.
"Sorry, Mom," Clarke grins. If she could tell her mother that she hasn't seen her dad in seven years, she's sure she would understand. She glances at Bellamy, hovering in the corner. Her Dad alive, Bellamy at her side always. Perhaps this is the universe where she truly gets to be happy.
Bellamy disappears after dinner, and is replaced with another guard, much to Clarke's disappointment. Her mother refers to her as Byrne, no first name. Byrne and Abby's own night guard stand by the door of the parlour as Clarke and Abby play cards. Clarke wishes they could watch a movie instead. Though this world appears to have modern cars and electric lighting, and Bellamy has a handgun in a holster at his side, they are far behind her own in terms of entertainment and fashion. Clarke feels as though she's travelled back in time, not just through it.
When Clarke feels she can stand it no longer, she tells Abby she's tired, and Byrne walks her back to her room. A maid appears to help her undress. Clarke then dons a loose fitting white nightgown and crawls into bed. She lies awake, trying to think of a way to get the Firebird onto Bellamy's skin. Perhaps she could try and seduce him.
She's in bed for maybe half an hour when she hears a knock on the door. It's not just an ordinary knock either, but a very precise pattern, as if it's a secret knock worked out between two people.
Clarke slides out of bed and pads over to the door, opening it just a crack to peer out. Byrne is gone. Bellamy stands at the door. He's dressed differently now, the stuffy coat and gloves gone, replaced with a tight black t-shirt and black pants. Apparently normal clothes do exist in this world. Clarke finds her eyes glued to Bellamy's muscular arms.
"Bellamy?"
"Did you forget?" he asks, smiling.
"Forget?"
"Our night sessions," he says. Night sessions? His face falls. "Unless you changed your mind?"
"No!" Clarke says quickly. "Just let me get changed."
Bellamy nods and Clarke closes the door. She has no idea what night sessions are. She also has no idea what she's supposed to wear to said night sessions. She flings open the wardrobe and is faced with an array of extravagant dresses. She couldn't put these on by herself even if she wanted to. She closes the wardrobe and instead heads for a chest of drawers. She sifts through each drawer, finding jewellery, undergarments, painting supplies and just a bunch of dried flowers, until she reaches the bottom drawer. Folded underneath a spare blanket is a soft white shirt and a pair of black pants, as well as a pair of white lace up shoes. Perhaps they were put they specifically for this occasion.
Clarke strips off the nightgown and pulls on the shirt and pants, laces up the shoes and wrenches the door open so hard Bellamy practically jumps out of his skin.
"I'm ready," she says. He doesn't look confused by her choice of clothing, so she figures she's wearing the right thing.
Clarke follows Bellamy down a mostly dark hallway, lit only by dimmed lamps which appear periodically. He leads her down a staircase, and through a back door, until they're outside in the cool night air. The slight breeze sends goosebumps up Clarke's arms. Bellamy finally stops walking when they're at a fair distance from the palace, closer to the lake. The grass beneath their feet is perfectly maintained, and it looks soft enough to lie down in.
"Should we go over what I taught you last time?" Bellamy asks.
"That's probably best," Clarke says. "I'm afraid I've forgotten everything." Including what they're even doing out here. She has a feeling her parents wouldn't be too happy if they found out their daughter was out here in the middle of the night, alone with her male bodyguard. This doesn't exactly seem like the most progressive of worlds, if her betrothal to Wells and her suffocating gowns are anything to go by.
"I'm sure you haven't," Bellamy says. But he starts a recap of their previous session anyway, and it doesn't take Clarke long to realise what these sessions are about. He's teaching her self-defence. Clarke breaks out into a grin. She's taken self defence classes back home. This is something she actually understands. Obviously this Clarke had been worried about the death threats and asked her bodyguard to help her defend herself should she ever need to.
"Okay, I've got it," Clarke says, interrupting Bellamy's review.
"You sure?"
"I'm sure," Clarke says. "Let's practise."
Bellamy gives her a heart stopping smile, and shakes his head affectionately. Clarke readies herself for his attack. He comes at her, and within seconds she has him pinned on the ground. He laughs, his eyes twinkling, and Clarke gives him a pleased smile.
"Have you been practising without me?" he asks her. He brushes her hair from her face and she shivers.
"I'm just a natural," she tells him. She stands up and offers him her hand. He hesitates before taking it and allowing her to pull him up. He retracts his hand quickly once he's standing. The Firebird, Clarke suddenly remembers. He's got plenty on skin on display now. That's the reason she's here. To retrieve the part of her Bellamy. Not to play princess in some other person's life. Next time she has him pinned she'll zap him with the Firebird, and then the real Princess Clarke Griffin can finish this lesson.
"I won't go so easy on you this time, then."
"Bring it on."
He lunges for her again, and they spar for a minute, until Bellamy gets the upper hand and has her flat on her back. He's much closer to her face than he was before, and he doesn't smile this time. Clarke's heart is racing and she's breathing heavy. Her eyes flick to his lips before she can stop herself. She feels her face heat up as she meets his eyes again.
"Clarke," he says hoarsely. Clarke. Not Your Highness. She's always loved the way her name sounds when he says it. She thinks he might kiss her then, and her whole body thrums with excitement.
"Your Highness!" someone calls from across the grounds, and Bellamy stands up hurriedly, helping Clarke with him. Byrne strides across the grounds towards them. Had she been watching them the whole time? She looks at Bellamy disapprovingly. "I think lesson time is over."
Clarke nods. She follows Byrne back towards the palace, throwing one last glance back at Bellamy as she goes.
She can't sleep. She feels like every nerve ending is on edge, and he stomach flips over every time she thinks about Bellamy's lips, an inch away from hers. She hates herself for it. She let herself get distracted by him, and she missed her chance to zap him with the Firebird. She doesn't even know why she wanted to kiss him. It must be some pent-up desire from this version of Clarke that seeped through, because the real Clarke? She doesn't think of Bellamy like that. She loves him, of course. But she's not in love with him. And she finds him attractive, because, who doesn't? But she's not actually attracted to him. Right?
She must eventually get to sleep, because the next thing she knows, a maid is throwing open the curtains, letting sunlight come streaming in through the large windows. Clarke groans.
"Sorry, Your Highness," the maid apologises. "The Queen wished me to wake you. You're supposed to be riding in the parade this afternoon."
"This afternoon? What's the time?" Clarke asks.
"Three o'clock, Your Highness."
Clarke doesn't respond, just drags herself out of bed and allows the maid to dress her in a red and gold gown, and do her hair and make-up.
Bellamy is waiting for her outside her bedroom door.
"Your Highness," he bows his head, the picture of formality. A far cry from the way he was with her last night. He's all covered up again, high neck and gloves. She'll just have to wait until they can have another training session. Provided Byrne still allows them to after last night.
"Bellamy," Clarke says. She wants to talk to him. Really talk to him. It's only been two days since she's seen the real Bellamy, but it already feels like a lifetime.
"Yes, Your Highness?"
She furrows her brow in frustration. "Never mind," she sighs. The real Bellamy would badger her until she told him what was wrong. This Bellamy just nods, and begins walking down the hall, leaving her to follow.
A car takes her and Bellamy to a park, where people are swarming around floats and getting into formation, ready to march in this parade. What the parade is for, Clarke has no idea.
A woman with a clipboard rushes over to her as Bellamy opens the car door and Clarke steps out.
"Your Highness," the woman curtseys. "Please follow me to your float."
The float is the most extravagant one there of course. It features a giant golden griffin, adorned with real feathers, painted gold. Below the head of the griffin is a red and gold throne. Lighted torches surround the float. The clipboard woman motions for Clarke to climb up and sit on the throne. Bellamy stands right beside her, his hand on his gun the whole time.
"Are you expecting trouble?" Clarke asks him.
"Always prepare for trouble at events like these," Bellamy says gruffly. Clarke nods and they fall into silence. It's nearing 5pm before the procession starts moving, the sun hanging low in the sky. As they pass crowds of people on either side of the road, Clarke smiles and waves like she's seen royalty do on TV.
"Bellamy, can we have training again tonight?" Clarke asks, still smiling and waving.
"Tonight?" Bellamy hesitates. "I'm not sure, Your Highness. Byrne wasn't very happy with me." He pauses. "I'm sorry, by the way," he says quietly. "I didn't mean to… I crossed a line."
"You didn't," Clarke points out. He doesn't say anything for a moment.
"I very nearly did," he says finally, and Clarke feels her insides clench. So he was going to kiss her. And why does the thought thrill her so much? "Your Highness," he tacks on. She looks at him.
"Why don't you ever call me by my name?"
"It's not proper."
"But we're alone," she points out. There are thousands of people surrounding them, but they may as well be alone. No one can hear their conversation. "I like hearing you say my name," she says, her voice low. His dark eyes flash.
"Clarke," he says, in that deep, gravelly voice. He opens his mouth to say something else, but he's cut off by a loud gunshot. Feathers rain down over them, and Bellamy immediately throws himself over Clarke, while the crowd screams.
"Are you okay?" he shouts.
"Yes!"
Another shot.
"We have to get you out of sight. There's a compartment under the float."
Covering her with his body, he drags her towards a trapdoor under the giant griffin. Another shot. Bellamy stumbles. His weight falls on her.
"Bellamy?"
"Get to the trapdoor, Clarke," Bellamy says. His voice is strained. He falls. Red blooms from his chest. Clarke immediately presses her hands to the wound, panic rising in her throat.
"Bellamy!" she cries desperately.
"Clarke, go," he says, putting his hand over hers. Tears form in her eyes, and immediately spill onto her cheeks.
"No! I can't leave you. I can save you. My mom's a doctor, I know first aid!" she babbles, leaning over him.
"You're not making sense," he groans. "Go, before they get you too."
She can't save him, she knows that. And if she lets him die, her Bellamy dies too.
"I'm so sorry," she whispers. She rips his coat and shirt open, revealing his chest. Bellamy is too far gone to protest, or wonder what the hell she's doing. She presses the Firebird to his chest, her hands shaking and covered in his blood. She squeezes, letting the shock go through his body. Bellamy barely seems to register it.
Clarke sobs, pulling away. It's time to go now. Bellamy grabs her hand, surprisingly tightly, like he's not fading away before her very eyes.
"Clarke," he says quietly. "I love you."
Clarke presses the go button.