CHAPTER 7


At night, almost all of the Polis population was gathered on the main square at the foot of the command tower in order to be present at the execution ceremony. In the center of the place illuminated by torches they had installed a pillar to which the condemned man would be fastened. Around had arranged themselves the Ambassadors, the generals and Lexa's guard, posted on each side of the throne which had been taken down from the tower, and on which was sitting the Commander, dressed with her leather armor and her imposing coat, her eyes outlined with the black of war paints.

Lexa was nervous, which was not in her habit. She could feel the extreme tension overtaking the place and created murmurs of agitation in the crowd. Everybody was waiting for the Skaikru, who finally arrived with the prisoner. Lexa saw Octavia enter first, riding at the head of the group and crossing the place. She stopped five meters in front of the throne and dismounted.

"Heda," Octavia said simply while putting one knee on the ground and bowing.

She rose to her feet and presented the important members of the Skaikru delegation.

"Heda Markus Kane kom Skaikru, Marcus Kane, commander of the Sky people."

"Nice to meet you at last, Heda. May we initiate peace between our two peoples," Kane said with a loud voice, before bowing respectfully, a gesture soon followed by the whole delegation, as Octavia had taught them.

"Welcome to Polis, Heda Markus kom Skaikru. May your gesture tonight honor your word and your will of peace," Lexa answered.

Kane moved aside and let Abby come forward.

"Abby Griffin, fisa kom Skaikru, healer of the Sky people."

Lexa observed with interest Clarke's mother whose hostility was palpable.

"Abby kom Skaikru, so you're the one I have to thank for having passed down your healer's gifts to your daughter, Klark kom Skaikru, without whom I wouldn't be here today, and without whom no hope of peace would have been possible," Lexa said with a mischievous smile.

Cut to the quick and not knowing what to answer without jeopardizing the fragile agreement Clarke had reached, Abby silently joined Kane in the most dignified manner possible.

"Clarke Griffin..." Octavia hesitated for a short moment, then resumed. "Bandrona en fisa kom Skaikru, Ambassador and healer of the Sky people."

In another context, Lexa would have admired Octavia's diplomatic flair in her presentation.

But at that moment, she was just trying to fight against the turmoil overwhelming her when Clarke's gaze met hers again, she was trying to deny the uncontrolled impatience she had felt all day long at the thought of seeing her again, she was trying to make her face impassive in order not to betray to the eyes of her people and of the Council what the mere sight of a smile on Clarke's lips aroused inside her, this animal emotion she refused to admit and prevented her from thinking.

Nothing of that emotion had shone through in the eyes of the other present Skaikru, Kane, Abby, Bellamy, Murphy, Raven, Monty, Jasper, come to honor their friend, they only saw the impressive and merciless Commander Octavia had recounted and who incarnated herself tonight in front of them, they could only feel the power emanating from her and the fearful and devoted respect of the thousands of Grounders around her. Even Clarke had been fooled by the seeming impassivity of the Commander who did not return the smile she could not have prevented from giving, despite the tension and the gravity of the moment. But she did not have the time to wonder about the disappointment she had felt, because Lexa had risen to announce the beginning of the ceremony.

"Peoples of the Coalition, we gathered tonight for the Death of a Thousand Cuts ceremony, tonight when justice will be served according to our traditions for the TonDC villagers. Bring the prisoner!"

Finn was escorted by two Trikru guards and fastened to the central post. Abby had fed him with sedatives in order for him to remain unaware of everything.

An icy silence fell when Lexa drew her dagger and held it out to the Azgeda Ambassador.

The latter took it and went towards Finn slowly.

"Jus drein, jus daun," he said before slashing Finn's cheek.

He retraced his steps and gave the dagger to the Floukru Ambassador. Who came nearer Finn and drove the blade into his shoulder.

"Jus drein, jus daun."

When Clarke saw the representative come back and offer the dagger to another Ambassador, she moved closer to Octavia.

"What's happening? The Death by a Thousand Cuts, tell me it's not what I'm thinking?!"

"Shut up, Clarke, justice must be done."

"They're not gonna... slash him in turns...?!"

She watched with horror a new slit appearing on Finn's forehead, and blood running down his face.

"How many, Octavia? How many?..."

"As many as victims."

Bellamy and the others had become pallid. There had been about fifty deaths among the villagers. Clarke distinguished Kane holding Abby back, one hand on her mouth to prevent her from shouting. All of them had understood the torture Finn was expecting.

"And if he's not dead, Heda will give the ultimate blow," Octavia finished, with a fascinated look.

Then Clarke went towards Lexa. The guards shuddered, but the Commander stopped them with a simple hand gesture.

"As an Ambassador, I reclaim the right for blood," Clarke improvised.

Lexa was surprised, but she nodded her head to the Ambassador who had just punished the prisoner. Clarke grasped the dagger and moved towards Finn, with tears in her eyes.

Lexa understood too late there was something abnormal. Clarke had put her forehead on Finn's, mixing blood with her tears, and was whispering soothing words to him as the dagger sank slowly into his heart, putting and end to his agony. Sobs shook Clarke's body, while the crowd was yelling, torn between the frustration that the ceremony was not respected, and the strong symbol Clarke gave when taking the law into her own hands. So Clarke straightened up and, giving back the dagger to Lexa, her hands covered with blood, she faced the Commander's gaze a last time. A gaze filled with rage and incomprehension.


Shattered, Clarke took refuge without thinking in the room she had occupied the first time when she had come to Polis. The guard in front of the door had let her pass as if it was still reserved for her. She leaned against a wall whining, staring at her bloody hands, overwhelmed by remorse and guilt, listening to the crowd shouting downstairs without knowing which meaning she could give to this persistent clamor.

And then the door burst open with a loud bang, letting Lexa appear in all her fury, and Clarke, in her distress, thought to live again the warrior's arrival coming to kill her in the infirmary, so much was the anger deforming the Commander's features, her look burning with rage and her threatening dagger in her hand. She swooped in on Clarke, and pinned her to the wall, her hand gripping the blonde hair, her weapon pressed under her throat, her feverish eyes plunging into hers.

"Why, Clarke?!" Lexa spat. "Why did you betray me in front of all my people?"

"I couldn't let him suffer endlessly, I..."

"Do you realize that by breaking with tradition, you broke your word?"

Fascinated, Clarke was watching the Commander's lips shout every word with anger, captivated by this slight contraction along her jaw she would have wanted to follow with the tips of her fingers.

"Do you realize that by wanting to spare your friend, I'm the one you condemned? I vouched for you and the Council is likely to depose me, thus breaking any hope for peace!"

Clarke had just understood the catastrophic consequences of her impulsive gesture of compassion towards Finn, but at that moment, she realized that what was the most painful for her was the disappointment and the sadness she could detect behind the fury in Lexa's eyes.

And the indecent and incongruous desire aroused by the hand pulling her hair off and keeping her at its mercy.

"Octavia had let me know that you were unpredictable, and I didn't want to believe her..."

Lexa's voice had begun to quiver, as did the hand holding the dagger. Through her rage, and because she abruptly became aware of the heady proximity of her body against the other woman's, Lexa felt all her repressed emotions explode suddenly in her stomach and release violently into a one and only sensation, an urgent, abrupt and uncontrollable desire.

She dropped the dagger which fell to the floor, strengthened her grip in Clarke's hair and crossed the last centimeters still pulling them apart, freeing this drive she had contained for so long.

Her body pressed against hers, she threw herself on Clarke's lips, forcing her mouth open, tasting blood and tears, a frenzied desire overwhelming her senses.

Clarke responded to it hungrily, and their kiss turned into a violent fight, their tongues avidly searching for each other, their lips grazing over the teeth, their breaths becoming hoarse.

With her free hand, Lexa untied Clarke's belt and watched with delight her face tense up slightly when she slid her hand and entered her. Pressed against Clarke's leg, she was trying not to lose control, her fingers following the rhythm of her moans already getting closer, every one of them electrifying her, feeding her fury, her urge to possess her further, deeper. She felt Clarke's hands clinging to her back, her neck, drawing Lexa to her, guiding her inside her. She sank in Clarke's ecstatic gaze, in the movement of her body banging against the wall with each thrust of her hand, in the softness of her lips she restrained herself from biting, in the warmth of her mouth her tongue was profaning relentlessly.

They had no time for gentleness, they had no time any longer, there was only the elation of their desperate passion, the consciousness of the ephemerality, the unexpected fusion of their similarities and of their differences into this feverish wrestle.

Lexa was losing her mind, she only felt the touch of Clarke's leg between hers, the pleasure which arose from it and was going to overwhelm her, the heady moans of the other woman, the painful tension in her fingers which sped up, harder and harder, again and again, lost in the intoxicating moistness. Sweat was running down her forehead, down her eyes darkened by visceral desire, drawing some new patterns on the black warpaints, this gaze which deeply moved Clarke whose breathing was becoming panting, impaled on this powerful hand which made her come, made her feel alive.

They had no time for patience, they had no time any longer, then Clarke pushed her head back, finally crying out her ultimate pleasure, her body arching violently under the strength of her orgasm, soon joined by Lexa, who could not repress a nearly animal groan, swamped by bliss, in a last compulsive movement of her hips against Clarke's body.