17.

Warm waves of light cascaded from the adjacent window, hitting the large plush bed with certainty. The heat flashed against her hair, making the blonde strands appear much more vibrant, like real gold. The light traveled down, grazing her bare legs, until it reached her toes that peeked out from beneath the oversized blanket.

Clarke was happily engulfed in the covers, she relished in the comfort for a second longer before the memories, the tears, and the pain hidden beneath her eyes lids, woke her up. She recalled all of the previous nights' moments. The feeling of rough hands stroking her pale skin ignited something in her that she immediately put out.

At the thought, her cerulean eyes drifted to the space next to her. She bit back the urge to hold her mouth a gap at the muscled body breathing evenly beside her. Her heart picked up in pace, and relief she didn't think she would ever feel, cooled her down.

She truly expected Bellamy to be long gone, wandering off to wherever, or whatever it was that he ran off to do.

Usually, Clarke woke up alone. Back at The Dropship, Raven would be up before the sun rose, without a single sound. Clarke always thought she was tinkering in the engineering room, or messing around with the rovers in the garage, but when she noticed the strength in Raven's stance, the way she seemed to carry more than just her weight even with an injured leg, she knew. Her roommate, and now closest confidant was getting up at dawn to push herself. To work her muscles, her joints, and show no mercy, no reason to be held so far behind the rest.

The exercise she was doing improved her ability to move, but the change wasn't in the way she stood tall, weight bearing both legs, it was in her eyes. Behind the pools of mocha brown, she had an air of defiance. Of the kind of strength taken and not given.

Even before that, Clarke's mother, Abby, would leave for the hospital before Clarke woke up and come back late at night after Clarke chased away the nightmares to find some form of sleep.

So, she was used to the emptiness, the vast cold space on the one side of the bed she didn't toss and turn in. Yet, seeing the rebel leader a mere touch away made her realize how much she suddenly hated waking up alone.

His body was angled away from hers. A good foot of space lay between them where no contact was made, and surely no contact was shared in their sleep. The muscles in his back clenched as he breathed in and out. She thanked the God above that he was still wearing his shirt, otherwise she would be in a completely different situation.

Still, it didn't stop her from admiring the t-shirt covered broad shoulders, or the way the sheen sweat slicked the hair on the back of his head to the nape of his neck. The glistening tan glowed against the sunlight that shinned in, and Clarke felt her world shatter into the tiniest of pieces, in the pit of her stomach.

Her infatuation with Finn, no matter how short-lived it was, or no matter how many times she told herself that if this was another time, and if he wasn't such a dick, she might have been easily taken by him, doesn't compare to what she would have felt with Bellamy.

In another time, with Bellamy Blake, she might not have been taken by him. She would have been devoured by him. The kind of love there, the kind of support she would have felt would be beyond anything anyone could have given her. He was a jerk, who seemed fixated on convincing her he didn't possess the capacity to achieve bare human emotion, but she saw through it.

She saw his heart. She saw that he has a heart, and one so big it carried a group of a hundred delinquents through the most treacherous forests to seek shelter and comfort from a war that's raging outside their expensive four walls. A war that they were forced into, plunged in the depths of it where they witnessed their brothers and sisters covered in an endless sea of their own blood. A war they truly had no part in but could have easily enlisted in.

She scoffed internally at herself. At the fact that she finally found someone worth it, someone who made her feel things she never thought she could, someone who snuck up on her so quickly, she didn't even notice he was all she wanted until he was inches away.

Last night, when exposed herself to him, when she was vulnerable in the retelling of the story that churned her inside out, he listened quietly, patiently. She knew it only came from experience. If he hadn't suffered the way she had, it might have been different. But the fact that they were two hollowed souls, that made them beautifully broken, and completely and irrationally perfect for each other.

Except she couldn't. She wouldn't. At the end of the day, Clarke brought upon pain and hurt wherever she went. She would never indulge in something she could never finished. She couldn't do that.

Not to him, not after Gina.

The war will end only one way, and with that, she will be gone no matter what path it takes.

Sighing under her breath, she slowly picked the covers up and off her aching body. She hadn't noticed how tired she was from their journey to this place until her back met the mattress. She heard ringing in her ears, and with eyes still puffy and bruised from crying all night, it was no surprise to find that her head was throbbing louder and louder with each passing second.

In that second, she wasn't sure if telling him was worth the pain afterwards. She took a sneaky glance at him one more time, before deciding that she would relive it over and over just to have this weight lift off her chest at the fact that someone else knew her horrors, and stayed.

Clarke's weak toes met the rug as she reached her full height in nothing but her underwear and shirt. It was almost humorous, the situation. She looked about ready to perform the walk of shame, except she was untouched. Despite her wishes otherwise, which she casted aside as soon as they entered her overpowered mind.

She managed to locate her discarded jeans and yank them on. In her search for her worn out boots, she examined the room she didn't get the chance to appreciate last night. The wide poster bed was the highlight, but the high ceiling with delicate trimmings was a close second. The artist in her followed the intricate detailing of the carved wild lion among a bed of flowers until the wall met the large window. A chuckle came out of her at the irony.

No wonder why he refused to part with this room. It was clearly meant for him.

White silk curtains were slightly parted allowing the heat of the light to enter, and the glass that covered the windows were like gleaming crystal, like fragile diamonds singing.

The entirety of the castle was breath taking. That's what made it worse. It was like a dream living here, amongst all the jewels and luxury, but it was also a constant reminder of how much she didn't know of this world, how much cruelty and utter betrayal lives in the hearts of the people who they were meant to trust. Of the people who they called the leaders of their world.

Clarke looked around the room once more with an urge to empty her stomach across the Persian rug across from her.

Children were dying, fathers and mothers were preparing for a war they shouldn't be fighting, and Marcus Kane is probably enjoying a hot breakfast in his fucking empire.

With a last glance at the sleeping figure, she turned the doorknob carefully, and slid out.

The dining room was as magnificent as the rest of the palace was. Clarke's eyes immediately found the group of definite outcast the moment she stepped foot inside the large hall but instead of squeezing herself between a delirious Jasper who was shoving what looked to be a type of sweet in his mouth, and the nerve-racked Raven who was still tinkering with her tools, Clarke roamed the hall until she found the table she was looking for.

A pair of knowing eyes greeted her slyly, as if calling to her, telling her that this was a long time coming.

"Miss. Griffin," the voice acknowledged, a bright smile as fake as the fluorescents in the room perched across his face.

"Kane." She shot back, bitterly.

His smile turned into a smug grin, eyes flickering from side to side, assessing if they had an audience, or worse if someone was stupid enough to intervene.

"What can I do for you?"

"Oh no, it's more like what you can't do for me." A small smirk etched across her own face at his slight confusion.

After Bellamy's departure that night, Clarke tossed and turned until the sheets were heavily rumpled beneath her. She was pretty sure she turned the pillow over thirty times, searching for some piece of comfort, just for a few seconds. In the midst of her struggles, her brain was on overpower. Every little hiccup, every little scratch in her plan was vivid, as bright as day.

The little misadventures, the little events that played out so coincidentally were on repeat.

First, she unknowingly followed an old map, hidden in her father's study that led her to the Dropship. In her gut she knew it couldn't be a simple coincidence. It had to be meant for her to find.

Then, a few hours prior to her runaway from Arkadia, she exchanged nasty words with her mother. For the life of her, she couldn't remember over what. But it had been a big fight. One that ended in screams, and torn bits of an already broken heart. It had to have happened, it had to be the final push that shoved her through the door and to The Dropship.

The pieces were falling into place. Like shards of the sharpest glass coming together to create a mirror, except there were still cracks, still fragments that she hadn't quite figured out.

Clarke twitched, her mind rolling over every memory from the moment she was old enough to realize Jaha's words were utter bullshit until the moment before she took one last look around the room and fell into a deep slumber.

All of it didn't add up.

"I don't seem to be following," Marcus Kane, shrugged nonchalantly. Clarke's smirk widened, without waiting for an invitation, or bothering to waste time with manners, she plopped in the chair across from him.

"You can't turn back the time. You can't bring back my father. You can't raise the armies up and overthrow Jaha until he is withering in the dirt next to his damn council members. You can't even help yourself."

Each hit, each moment she parted her lips and released another harsh word, was like a whip to Kane's back. His face grew from cunning ease to cold shock in a matter of seconds, but Clarke merely spared him a glance before evaluating the dining hall once more.

"All of those things, you can't do." She paused, eyes caught on Jasper and Monty's harmless banter and shoving fight. Their smiles tugged at her heart in a way that would surely kill her, and she sincerely hoped that if anything, they would be the ones to survive the battle that's daunting near. Her blue eyes flicked to Kane once more, a sly grin etching on her face as she ignored the images of her friends and their rotting bodies.

With a sigh, she continued. "Makes you wonder what exactly you can do."

Marcus Kane looked on in silence. Clenching his jaw, he turned to look at his food, ignoring the burning graze of hurt and anger rolling over him.

"Ha, Kane with nothing to say. Here I thought you were an honorable man. Honorable enough to lure my father into helping you before turning around and stabbing him in the back."

"I tried to save him. I talked him out of going to the council, out of revealing what we know."

"Didn't try hard enough."

"He had his own hidden agenda."

"Bullshit." She spat out. Her carefree façade long gone, and hate lurched on to every part of her. "You could have stopped him but you didn't. I know what happened. I know what he believed and why he did what he did. But I also know that you let him."

Marcus narrowed his eyes now, running his palm over his face he struggled before getting out his next words. "Your father knew what he was doing. I tried to talk him out of it, your mother tried—"

"My mother?"

At her furrowed brows, and look of utter confusion, Marcus realized what he had said. He looked around the room nervously, and for the first time Clarke observed as the confident and careless man in front of her, truly felt guilty.

"She knew." Clarke breathed out.

"Oh, Miss. Griffin," he paused, furrowing his brow in mock sincerity, "I'm pretty sure she's the one who convinced him to go public."

Clarke frowned. Anger coursed through her unlike any other. And she had lived with Bellamy Blake, and his obnoxious ass for the last couple of months.

"That doesn't make any sense, I thought she was trying to get him to stay quiet. I heard—"

"You heard what she wanted you to hear."

Like a blow to the gut, it all made sense now. And somehow it all didn't.

Her mother knew all along. She knew what her father was doing. Who Marcus was. She knew about The Dropship.

Which means she knew all along where Clarke was. Or she had to have known.

Then, the worst question lingered for much longer. Did she know what Clarke did? Did she know who really took her father's final breath?

"I-I have to…" She trailed off, glancing up to meet Marcus' cunning grin. The rat was playing her, there was something off about how he kept up his charade. Almost like he wanted to give it up, but kept his hold tight.

Hiding behind a false feeling, whether it be hate, wit, or happiness, Clarke knew it all too well.

"I'm sure you do. Let Mr. Blake know that if he is serious about leaving to fight this gory war, that he needs to say his goodbyes quickly. We leave at noon."

"Why wouldn't he be serious? If anything, I'm surprised you decided to make the sacrifice."

Marcus cocked his head, the grin staggering slightly, but not enough to disappear. "And why wouldn't I make the sacrifice, as you put it. After all I've done?"

Clarke let out the first true laugh since she's been between the high castle walls.

"You're fucking with me, right?" Humor left her tone, and Marcus was met with the coldest stone look that her blue eyes could carry. "You left a twenty-four-year-old in charge of a bunch of kids. You promised him his sister but only if he carried this burden for you. You knew how desperate he was, how far he was willing to go for his flesh and blood."

"Bellamy knew the risks."

"No he clearly didn't. He lost his youth. He lost so much more all because a coward was hiding in the shadows claiming to pull the strings when really he was saving his own skin."

Whatever cockiness, whatever taunting Marcus was portraying before quickly evaporated. He leaned in close, a breath away from her face, teeth exposing all kinds of anger and seethed out, "I'm not a coward."

"No, you're just a manipulator, a liar." Clarke raised her voice, enough that those around, those who weren't listening before were now fully aware of the conversation she was having with their phantom savior.

"Listen, Miss. Griffin, you have no idea what you're talking about. Out of everyone, a spoiled princess like yourself should keep her mouth shut. Bellamy was already broken, long ago. The council members, Jaha they all did that. They deprived him of obtaining a full education, and enjoying it. They deprived him of adequate amounts of food to fill his stomach because he had to share with a sister that shouldn't have existed. They deprived him of love."

Taken back, Clarke let her blonde hair fall away and over her shoulders. Still, she kept her stare constant, not letting Marcus see the effects of his words. Not letting her mind stutter on the last thing he said.

"If you care for him, and I know you do, I see it in your eyes," he held up a hand interrupting the frantic look hidden in her orbs, "then you will be very wary. He is a broken soul. One you cannot fix. Let him go, and let us focus on winning a war that is the mere source of our salvation. With it, we can ensure that no one grows the way Mr. Blake did."

In one swift motion, the cold air hit her face. Her heart was beating rapidly, so much so that she hadn't notice that she now sat alone at the table, with wondering eyes peering over at her. There was a lot to worry about. Her fears ranged from the ears that may have heard her deepest secrets, to how Marcus even knew about her feelings, to the information he bestowed upon her, to the reminder of the battle that has yet to begin but would surely end them all.

All of it didn't amount to the harshness Marcus used when advising, if that was even the word to use, Clarke to let Bellamy go. She didn't even have a hold on him.

It was evident, and insanely accurate, his inability to look at her as more than a privileged girl surrounded by suffering delinquents, but she was not going to let Marcus Kane get away with telling her what to do.

Then, another thought hit her.

Her mother.

Fucking hell, Clarke thought bitterly to herself.

Not allowing herself the space and time to dissect this any longer, she got up and made a beeline to the long oak table at the far end of the hall and sat smack dab between Raven and Wick, much to Wick's discomfort.

"You alright?" Raven raised an eyebrow, her question holding a lot more than concern. Clarke spared her a small glance, noticing that Raven's eyes were not on her but on the man she just walked away from. Marcus Kane was looking over at them from the far corner of the room, his eyes trained on her like before, except this time he wasn't smug or sarcastic or scornful. It looked like he had more to say. Like there was something he needed, so severely, to prove.

Clarke wasn't going to give him the damn chance.

"Yeah, fine."

Jasper leaned over Raven, with a wide smile and shoved his plate directly under her nose. "Clarke, oh my God, you have got to try this!"

The sighs that escaped the table startled Clarke, and she forced out a breathy chuckle as she pulled the plate out of his hands and right in front of her on the table. She was correct in assuming it was a type of sweet earlier. The thick red syrupy chunks spilled out with their thickly sweet scent and the outer brown shell was crisp. With tentative hands, she held the plate still in one hand and grabbed the fork in the other.

Once the desert hit her tongue, she bit back the urge to moan in appreciation. It tasted rich, and sweet like a type of fruit she was not used to. The bread-like crust was the perfect balance of moist and flakey, and it all just melted in her mouth like nothing she's ever eaten before.

Grinning like a madman, Jasper nodded in understanding and delight.

"Told you." He claimed, then with greedy eyes, he reached across to pull his plate back. Clarke was quick, pushing the plate away from him and taking another heaping fork full.

"I see you've tried the pie," the deep voice startled her. The entire table stopped their movements, eyes lifting up and away from Clarke and Jasper to see if they heard right. Bellamy in all his glory, stood at the end of the table, arms crossed, and his two trusted sidekicks a few paces behind. "If you're lucky, Monty might share his chocolate cake."

At the thought of that, Monty hastily pulled his own plate closer to him, protecting it with both arms.

"What the hell do you want Blake?" Raven questioned, being the only one who didn't bother with glancing up. "Came to give another inspiring speech?"

Bellamy ignored her, his brown eyes locked securely on Clarke. From behind him, Murphy crackled, "Reyes, nice to see your injury is still responsible for your pessimism, although last I heard, jealousy also helps out. A lot." Murphy's eyes lingered at Clarke with a knowing snide smile.

Glaring, Raven's middle finger greeted him, along with a string of curses that had the smile slipping off his face.

"Griffin, we need to talk." Bellamy said cutting in the heated exchange that Wick was sadly trying to end.

Slowly, Clarke followed his broad back until they were out of the dining hall and into another room she hadn't been in before. Averting her eyes from the muscles that pan across his shoulders, she took in the ancient arcs and wooden furniture that decorated the area.

The atmosphere held an air of sophistication, and serenity. From the antiques scattered across the table tops, to the bookshelf on the far right corner that carried books with bends and breaks on their outer jackets. Everything about this place held some form of history. Some form of the world that used to be but isn't anymore.

And as Clarke was rightfully aware of the hard gaze drilling through her from her male companion, she couldn't help but smile at the fact, the simple idea, that the things of our past aren't truly lost.

Not really, anyway. The old problems were still relevant, and the older happier parts of life can be relevant again. With everything in her, she prayed some part of that was true.

"Why are you smiling?" His voice cut her intense focus and away from her thoughts.

Clarke eyed him. His posture ever the same with flexed arms across his chest, and narrowed eyebrows in silent wonder.

"Didn't know it was illegal to smile."

"You've lived in this world long enough, Princess. You know most things are illegal to do."

"Hm." She hummed with a wary grin. "Never struck you as the type to worry about the law."

At that the corners of his mouth tugged upwards, but only briefly, enough to make her heart stutter. Blue met brown. Soon after silence met them both.

He broke it first, "We made a deal before, remember?"

"You broke most of them."

He grunted humorlessly, "Not all of them. That night on Luna's rig, remember what you said."

The images of that night seeped into her skin. She could never forget it if she wanted to. The same way she could never forget how she spilled her heart out to him last night, or the faint ghosting of his fingertips against the flesh of her bare thighs.

"Remember?" he murmured so softly that it took her by surprise. Nodding her head, she crossed her own arms.

"I said we should work together. It was the only way to win," she explained, then as an afterthought, "yet somehow you still kept me in the dark, and refused my help."

"Relax, Princess. You were right."

She froze, with a soft gasp she said, "I'm sorry, did you just say I was right?"

Ignoring his glare, she smirked and leaned in closer to him, until there was a thin fragile line of air between them. "Didn't think I'd live to see the day."

Dark tussled hair clouded her vision, as he bent his head lower, nose grazing the lower part of her temple, lips hovering over her ear, and breath tickling her earlobe.

"Don't get used to it." He muttered, lips moving over her skin as he spoke the words. Her breath hitched, and she found herself involuntarily leaning closer to him.

"You want to work together?" she asked him, breathlessly.

He nodded, still so close to her that she was entirely convinced she was going to burst into flames.

"Here, I thought I was going to stay back, treat superficial injuries while you go die along with all the other idiots who think they could create peace from chaos."

"What's wrong with a little chaos?"

Shifting from foot to foot, she rolled her shoulders back and took a deep breath.

"You're a dick."

All of a sudden, the world exploded. Or she felt like it did, because in a matter of seconds, she was welcomed with a deep, rich laugh. Clarke truly believed she imagined it. She stared in awe, as his laughter echoed, slamming into the walls of the room, ringing in her ear. His breath tickled her neck, and she felt the loss of him when he stepped back to look at her through squinted eyes.

His face was carefree, light, like nothing she had ever seen before from him. The apples of his cheeks glistening against the light pouring in from the glass windows. His perfect teeth bared, pink full lips spread and the rough, deep noise coming from his throat was heading straight to a place that had her pulling her legs closer together.

"You're sexy when you laugh." She blurted. Abruptly he stopped. The embarrassment rushed to her face, tinting it a deep red and she kept her mouth a gap, blubbering like a fish out of water.

His pupils darkened, all humor and easiness of his laughter seized. Clarke couldn't decide what was worse, the words she let slip out of her mouth, which has never happened before. Clarke Griffin, the girl who was embedded in her ways to rethink and overanalyze before speaking. Or how somber she felt when the melodic sound stopped coming out of perfect lips.

"Uh," she spluttered, looking for anything to say. "Kane says you leave today, at noon."

Bellamy continued to openly stare at her. Whether he heard her or not, she didn't know because she was too busy shaking with nerves and humiliation. She gnawed at her lips and it wasn't until his eyes zeroed in on them that she realized she may have misread the situation.

He wasn't uncomfortable with her comment. He was fighting an instinct that she's been fighting since the first moment she indulged in a heated argument with him. And like that, Kane's words, his advice, his condescending and terrible thoughts invaded her own.

"Uh, so," she tried again, wanting the focus to lift off her.

"I'm not leaving at noon." He cut in. "We leave tomorrow night."

"We?" she questioned, completely unsure of what to do anymore.

Taking a step back, he walked away backwards, and with a slight smirk his head bobbed up and down.

"That's right, Princess. We."