This is a bit smaller than my normal chapters, but I don't think you'll be disappointed. The much anticipated Lexa POV chapter! This should answer some questions about what's been going on as far as Lexa is concerned, and why Clarke hasn't heard more from her soulmate.

As always, if you have any questions, ideas, or comments, let me know! I love hearing from you.

For the first time in a very long time, Lexa was alone.

Completely alone.

The barracks where the natblidas stayed were empty except for Lexa. They'd offered to let her spend the night in her new quarters, since even though the ceremony wasn't due to be completed until tomorrow, she had earned her rightful place.

Lexa had refused.

This was where she had grown up. Even with the ghosts of her friends haunting her at every turn, the whispers of giggles that weren't real and the touches across her shoulders that she'd never feel again, Lexa wanted to spend her last night as a natblida here.

And maybe a little part of herself, deep inside, believed that she didn't deserve the comforts that came with her new position as Heda.

Heda. Lexa squeezed her eyes shut tight, forcing her breathing at a soft, even pace. She'd learned long ago how to repress these emotions, how to keep the pain from showing on her face. How to stop from crying.

Warriors didn't cry. Hedas didn't cry. In order to serve her people, she wished that she could remove her eyes and wring out every last drop of moisture within them, only to return them to her skull once she was sure that she would never feel these emotions again. If only that were possible. If only she didn't feel so much.

The rest of the natblidas were dead. Many by her own hand. Except for Luna. Luna, who had killed her brother for her people but who could not bear to let her soulmate die by her hand. Or worse, let her soulmate stain his hands with her blood in return. Luna, who had run in the dark of night and who should be hunted and made to suffer for her cowardice.

Luna, who she had ordered left alone, forgotten.

The other girl had been like a sister to her, as much as any of the natblidas were. She knew that she had been standoffish, had tried hard to guard her heart since Anya had warned her of the weakness of feelings. But they'd all been her siblings, and Luna had given her pretty blue flowers for her last birthday…

Lexa sucked in a deep breath. Let it out. Took another.

The rhythm soothed her, until finally her thoughts stilled once more and she could tell the ghosts in the corner to stay quiet. To let her be.

There was a container of kohl on the table in front of her, and Lexa was determined to do at least one thing before she tried to sleep. The sleep would not come easy, she knew, but it was needed so she would be ready for her future come the morning.

As Heda, Lexa was no longer a seken. She was a warrior in her own right, and thus was allowed to paint her face for war. As Heda, Lexa knew that this would be the mask she would wear more than her own face. As Heda, there was always war. This was Lexa's chance to practice for herself before she faced her people and showed her mask to the world.

Dipping her fingers in the black kohl, Lexa stared at herself in the sliver of mirror she had available to her, then gently brought the darkness to her eyes and carefully began to paint around them.

It was strange, watching her sunkissed skin disappear under the blackness, watching her eyes get swallowed up and yet enhanced by the effect. She'd seen this on all of the warriors, of course, each with their own designs, but she had always wondered what it would look like on her own face. Lexa finally looked like she knew she should feel. Like a warrior.

Her eyes were ringed with dark kohl now, and Lexa thought that it was good to honor her mentor. Anya had always gone with a simpler design than most. She believed that a warrior proved themselves in battle more than they proved themselves in paint. Lexa could see the wisdom in that idea, and as Heda, perhaps she could use that as a guide.

The effect was striking, green eyes flickering in the candle light, but Lexa wasn't sure. She should make it her own, somehow. Lexa reached up to further darken a patch of skin when she felt the heat building on her wrist, the sensation causing her to freeze as she stared at her bracer. Her bracer, which protected her from more than just glancing blows from a sword. More than just physical injury, but also emotional injury.

Lexa's breath hitched. She shouldn't look. She shouldn't.

Did they have to return now? Now, on the eve of her ascension, on the night that she'd finished her bloody duty for her people, when she'd proven herself worthy for the spirit. When she was alone and hurting.

She'd thought that she'd made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with them, thought that by not giving in to the urge to respond, she could remove the curse of her traitorous other half from her soul. Lexa blinked, feeling the emotion sweep over her, then looked at herself in the mirror again, seeing the beginnings of the mask that she had made for herself, and understood. She'd been the one to call them this time. This was one last trial she had to face before she was worthy of her position as Heda. If she could weather this pain, she could do anything.

Lexa carefully unlaced her bracer and pulled it away from her wrist. She didn't look, not until she had set the leather down on her table, not until she was sure that she was as ready as she could ever be, and then finally, finally, she looked down.

It was worse than she had imagined. Scrawled in dark, angry lines, covering the whole of her forearm and taunting her with the demand. As if their connection meant anything to her, as if this coward could command the Heda.

"NO STOP."

Gonasleng. English. The language of the Maunon, who terrorized her people, took them and either didn't return them or corrupted their bodies and minds. Sent them back as monsters that could only be released from their bodies and never saved. The Maunon who thought that they were gods in their concrete fortress, with their guns and their gas and lack of souls.

How could she have a soulmate who didn't possess a soul of their own?

What had she done to deserve this fate?

They'd taught the natblidas early on that as Heda, their soulmate would be vulnerable. There was no way to hide their connection to the commander and other leaders would use that weakness against them. They could not afford to be soft. They could not afford to be weak. But despite that, no one would demand that a Heda keep their soulmate separate. They were two halves of a soul. They were one.

Their soulmate would be at risk, but they could be together. With the whole clan searching for the soul of the Heda, it was never hard to find them. Their union was sacred. Revered. Lexa had always thought that if she were to be Heda some day and serve her people, at least she would have the chance to know her other half.

But Lexa had been cursed with the soul of the mountain. Cursed to know that her other half would be used against her one day, would maybe even take her life for their own. And, Lexa knew, she'd never be able to do the same. Perhaps one day she could be the one to bring down the mountain, to set her people free. Perhaps. But she'd never be able to kill her other half. That was more than Lexa could bear, even for her people.

She'd never told anyone, not even Anya. This shame was her own burden to bear and she would rather have the other natblidas (and now, she knew, the rest of her people) whispering about how Lexa did not have a soulmate. How Lexa was going to be the first Heda in a long, strong line, who was born without another half.

It was better than the truth. Better than the knowledge that she could be her people's downfall. That love was weakness and her one chance at being whole was truly the chink in her people's armor.

Her emotion swelled again, pressing against the dams that she had built up. She was tired, so tired. The others were gone. Lexa was alone and her people were counting on her now. Heda had to live for her people but Lexa still wished that she could just climb into her mother's bed and curl up against her to let her fight off the bad dreams.

The lines against her wrist glared at her again in their arrogant demand. She should never have been allowed to win the Conclave. She should never...

Lexa could feel the tears, hot and angry, and before she could stop them they were escaping and threatening to streak down her cheeks. She gasped, almost a sob, although she tried to keep it quiet. No one could know. No one could hear. Instead, she clawed angrily at the tears, pulled them down across her cheekbones to make sure they couldn't travel any further. And when she looked at herself in the shard of mirror she called her own, the redness of her eyes was offset by the ragged fierceness of the dark lines spidering away from them. For a moment she couldn't recognize herself, the haunted warrior staring back at her leaving her breathless.

This warrior could break and break and would still fight. No matter how many ghosts hid behind that mask, no matter how many enemies lurked in that soul, this warrior would stand. The eyes behind the mask cried once more for the child they would never be again, then firmed, knowing their duty, knowing their place.

Lexa looked into the eyes of the warrior and let the mask become her own.

And then it was enough. This was how she could fight this, could serve her people the way they needed her to be. Could rise above her human limitations and accept the mantle of command. Above all, this was how she could keep away her traitorous other half.

The kohl mask stared back at her through the mirror, fierce green eyes blazing through the darkness.

This was Heda.