Chapter 2 is out. Rewritten and edited for your reading pleasure! Thanks so much guys! Enjoy and please, R&R!
Like he promised, Roan had come back to her room the next morning and explained her role in his coup. He had explained that he had some allies within Azgeda and The Lake People clan that would support his claim. He also clarified that he wasn't entirely sure what his mother and sister were up to. He kept it vague, mostly guesswork, and assured Clarke that her role in his plan was simple. She would seem to be content in her position here. She wouldn't cause waves, go behind his back, or raise his family's suspicions. He promised, which made Clarke feel a little better, that if she complied, he would have no reason to keep her in Azgeda.
However, she hadn't seen Roan again since that day. It'd been almost two weeks since she'd been brought to Azgeda and her leg was healing normally. She'd insisted that she perform what little examinations she could but for the most part, Azgeda's healer was an extra set of hands. She'd cursed at him one day for not having the proper tools and then on the next day he'd come back with a satchel full of their best instruments. Clarke had laid off him after that, knowing that he wasn't trying to harm her and that the poor older man was only doing what he was told.
However, Clarke had started feeling anxious only a couple of days into her imprisonment. She hadn't been outside that room since she'd arrived, the doctor and his assistant had been helping her with everything. At first, she thought that it could be worse but after three days of doing nothing but lounge in bed, it had become maddening. She knew she had to keep busy so she kept constant watch on her leg, exercising it more and more every day. She also took note of the moon phase, position of the stars, and the times of day when she was delivered food and medical care. After a week, it was not enough. She needed something else to keep her occupied. The doctor who attended her occasionally brought dried herbs and old linen to grind and shred for supplies but even this only briefly distracted her from the fact that she was locked in this room.
She'd constantly look out the window, catching glimpses of a war party leaving or entering the city. She'd occasionally spot servants below her window, peasants in the distant square going about their daily walks, and horses slowly lumbering through the narrow and muddy streets. Her favorite sight, however, was right before sundown when a single man would come walking up the main street in the village, a torch in one hand and a hook in the other. He went around pulling lanterns off their catches before replacing the candle within and lighting it. He'd do this up the avenue, taking him at least an hour in total to light, as Clarke counted, 43 lanterns. It lit the market up beautifully and it dazzled in the freshly fallen snows on the nights she was lucky enough to enjoy such a view.
Clarke had admired the beauty of Azgeda, despite the situation she was in. If she could say anything about this place it would be that it was beautiful. The sky was wide open at night from her thick window. She could make out the moon and the brightest stars as the lanterns below flickered in the howling breeze. She could see the distant hills and rises of the mountains to the south if she strained to look. She could also see the west, with its rolling lowlands and forest stretching miles into the pink and orange sunset. This she could admire about Azgeda despite her captivity and the room that seemed to close in around her.
She'd wondered for hours about an escape plan. Reasoned with herself that she could overpower the older physician on the days he was alone. She could sneak from this room, find a window, and climb down to the outer wall of the keep without incident. She even convinced herself that if she had to, she would be able to threaten a servant to lead her outside. It could have worked and she had almost considered bolting from the room one day had it not been for the presence of two guards who were outside the room. She'd gone over almost a dozen options in her head about how to get out of this city when she finally gave up. Realistically, with her injury and her lack of clothing, she'd be frozen or captured within a day. She didn't fear death as much as Queen Nia so the plan started to seem more appealing the more dangerous it got.
Clarke also tortured herself with the thought of what her parents might be thinking. She knew her mother would be beside herself with fear and her father would be angry enough to demand a military intervention. She also knew that both her parents would never give up hope that she was still alive. The thought of her parents waiting for her gave her little comfort in her closed-off tower. She could see her mother's tears and her father's squared jaw already, the heartache they were feeling so keen and real that she'd begun crying almost daily. She felt pathetic, helpless, and utterly alone. This wasn't something she'd ever experience before and couldn't accept it. Her emotions were ever changing in that gilded cage: she'd felt hopeless, sad, longing, anger, betrayal, hatred, bitterness, madness, determination, optimism, anxious, and heartsick all within the same hour.
She also thought about her friends and what they must be doing to try and get her back. She knew they'd be seeking a diplomatic way to get her back but it must have been as hopeless for them as it was for her. She couldn't imagine the entire coalition turning on a fellow clan over her. The risk outweighed the reward and the more she contemplated that, the more desperate she was to see Bellamy. She closed her eyes and saw his staring back at her nightly. She felt his touch when nothing was there and yearned for his embrace to reassure her that all was well. She also became angered with herself when she realized that the thought of Bellamy Blake was the only thing keeping her sane. She knew she was better than that; she may have been a princess but she didn't need some man coming to rescue her.
Unfortunately, that seemed to be her only option. Her only way out of this entire ordeal depended on Roan's word. She cringed at the thought of a prince coming to save her. She couldn't trust him any more than she could trust the rest of his family and that made her desperate to believe him. He had promised Bellamy wouldn't be harmed and that she'd be returned but Clarke doubted Roan could fulfill both promises. She doubted he'd be inclined to. After all, a powerful marriage between Roan and Clarke would destroy Bellamy's family. She didn't know who she was kidding and that familiar depression hung over her like a cloud. She needed to occupy herself some other way and the good doctor could provide. Clarke had petitioned him for almost three whole days before he agreed to bring her some parchment and charcoal pens.
She'd drawn over two dozen pictures after that, allowing them to liter the floor of her room. She'd done some scenery, including her family garden and Azgeda but most of her pictures were portraits. She'd drawn almost everyone by memory and their smiling faces taunted her from the floorboards. Her mother and father embraced and smiled at her as did Finn and Raven. Lexa smirked through those beautifully light eyes and Wells almost radiated off the page with his smile. She'd drawn everyone already, even those she hadn't really been that familiar with. Harper, Monty, Jasper, and Landell all stared up at her as did Octavia, Jon and Kat. The one face that she spent the most time on, that took up the whole page, was Bellamy. She wanted to get every little spec and detail of his eyes, every freckle on his cheeks, and every twitch in each muscle. She wanted to weep the entire time but she didn't dare let herself slip into her own thoughts.
She had considered what Bellamy might be thinking and what he could be doing the entire time she was locked in that room. She'd hoped and prayed that any moment he would burst through that door and tell her she was going home but the image only made her feel worse. She didn't need him to save her but she wanted him to and that weakness, she believed, put her in this situation. She had to do better, she had to be smart and do what needed to be done and thinking of Bellamy only stalled those choices.
At the two-week mark, she could freely walk about her room with little help from a cane or stick but her leg was still tender. She'd been able to limp around and build her strength up but she had been going mad. She'd paced, done a few simple physical exercises, and recited some her favorite sonnets in her head daily. She knew this captivity, this prison, would drive her mad if something didn't change. It was on the fifteenth day that her thoughts were finally interrupted by a knock at the door. She'd secretly hoped it was Bellamy but when a young woman, dressed in dark leather and a woolen tunic entered, she quickly dismissed it. The woman couldn't have been much older than Clarke with long dark hair that was braided and interwoven over her ears and down her back. She looked unfamiliar and Clarke was unsure what to say to this mystery woman.
"I'm Bruni," she announced, bowing slightly to Clarke. "The doctor said your leg is beyond worry so I have been assigned to watch over you."
"You're my jailor?" Clarke questioned, turning back to the window she'd been sitting by. It was almost sunset and she loved the variety of color it offered against the pale white and sharp black contrast of the world around her.
"If that is how you choose to see it," Bruni replied, watching her solemnly.
"How else should I see it?" Clarke asked, glancing over at her. "A vacation?"
"Doesn't matter to me," Bruni admitted, shrugging her shoulders. "I was told to be both your servant and your body guard so keeping an eye on you is part of the job. I don't really care how you feel about me or your situation." She then moved over to the edge of the bed and sat down, staring at Clarke pointedly. Clarke wasn't going to back down and stared right back, Bruni's attitude not dissuading Clarke from her stubbornness. However, Bruni only smiled, nodding her head before leaning back on her elbows.
"Aren't you curious as to why I am here?" Bruni asked, a playful tone in her voice.
"You just told me," Clarke snapped, turning from the girl on her bed. "Now get out."
"Can't do that," Bruni admitted, tilting her head slightly. "You've been summoned to dine with Prince Roan and Princess Roya."
"Summoned?" Clarke growled, glancing over her shoulder. "Like a dog?"
"More like a prisoner," Bruni poked, looking up at the ceiling before looking at the many drawings scattered on the floor. The fire was burning low and the candles were dim but Bruni seemed to be impressed, moving from the bed to pick one up. She stared at it a moment before moving over to the window, leaning against the adjoining wall with a smirk. "Family or friend?" she asked, holding up the picture of Bellamy.
"Neither," Clarke responded, her eyes firmly fixed on the colors of the setting sun. The golden glow was starting to ignite the rest of the room in a radiant orange and Bruni only smirked back at her, shrugging her shoulders.
"Very well," Bruni sighed, moving from the window back toward the bed, throwing the portrait back on the floor. "It's better than all the others so I think I can guess who he was."
"You have no idea who he is," Clarke snapped, glaring over at her. "I'm not going to dinner; now, get out."
"That's not an option," Bruni assured, crossing her arms over her chest. "Aren't you dying to get out of this room? You've been locked in here for two weeks!"
"I refuse to dine with my captors," Clarke ground out, trying to stay focused on the setting sun.
"You've been summoned," Bruni growled back, the seriousness in her tone making Clarke glance at her. "By Prince Roan, your future husband and the future king of Azgeda. This isn't a request."
"You'll have to drag me from this room then because I'm not going to dine with those barbaric-."
Clarke immediately regretted her words because Bruni's hand was around her throat, her other grasping Clarke's wrist tightly. She looked offended, almost livid when she peered down into Clarke's eyes. Bruni's eyes were the most dangerous shade of gold she'd ever seen.
"You'll get off your ass and go or else I will drag you out of this room and down the stairs by your pretty golden locks," Bruni warned, her jaw firmly set. "And there are a lot of stairs."
Clarke glared at her briefly before nodding, Bruni's hand tightening slightly before letting her free. Clarke slowly limped toward the bed as Bruni walked to the door, letting in two younger girls who were dressed in simple gray wool dresses. One was carrying two steaming buckets of water, the other carrying a satchel and a long drape of velvety cloth. Clarke watched them curiously as they set the buckets on the floor and the bag and cloth on the bed before leaving the room again. They returned a few moments later rolling what appeared to be a large drum. When they set it upright, Clarke recognized it as a bathing tub. It looked more like a large wine barrel, slats bound together with wrought iron and what appeared to be simple carvings along the borders.
It was beautiful and Clarke instantly longed to jump inside and soak. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been washed or been able to bathe in a tub. The idea, though simple, gave Clarke the chills and she waited impatiently for the girls to empty the two buckets into the tub before fetching two more each. Once they'd finished, Bruni left the room, remarking that she'd be standing right outside the door. Clarke ignored her though, ready to strip out of the thick itchy linen and wool and soak in the warm steaming water of the tub. Both girls were in the satchel now, one grabbing white rose petals and the other dried lavender and what looked like a milky liquid soap.
Clarke was very grateful for them as they littered the surface of the water with dried lavender, rose petals, and shimmering white liquid. They then stirred the water around with their arms and hands before moving aside to help Clarke undress. The aroma was so relaxing that Clarke couldn't help but tear up. It was the kindest treatment she'd been given since she'd arrived here. The minimal human contact between the doctor and his assistant wasn't enough and today she had felt overloaded. After peeling off the bandages that held her leg in place, Clarke inspected the wound. It wasn't open anymore and a scar had formed where the bullet had penetrated her leg. The bruising was still evident and her skin looked a bit red but there was no heat, a sign that the leg has healed without infection.
She poked at it a bit, wincing at the dull pain of the bruises before pulling her shirt off over her head. She didn't know how long she sat submerged in that tub, the water over her shoulders and her hair falling like a mop over her head. She didn't care that both girls were waiting patiently to wash her. All she knew was that the warm weightlessness of the water embraced her and the smell of lavender and petals overwhelmed her other senses. She was almost euphoric and nearly fell asleep before shaking herself to regain her senses.
Both girls were ready to help but Clarke refused. She washed very slowly and deliberately, being careful not to break skin or rub too hard against her scar. When she finally got to her hair, she was rough and meticulous. She scrubbed her scalp thoroughly underwater before having the two girls help her rinse it out with the remaining bucket of warm water. Clarke didn't take long to wrap herself in the plush linen blanket the girls had brought and before she could stop them, they were combing through her wavy golden hair with gentle ease. Clarke didn't want to admit that it felt good but she'd be lying to herself. The brushes combing through her hair and grazing her scalp felt unbelievably good and at one point she let out a relaxed sigh.
Her hair was still damp and starting to frizz when Bruni came walking back through the door. It wasn't quite dark outside; the fire being started back up by one of the girls as the other lit candles all about the room. Bruni looked confused and stared at Clarke mindlessly before glancing out the window.
"You've been in here over an hour," she pointed, closing the door behind her. "And you're not even dressed!"
"I needed that bath," Clarke admitted, trying to keep her voice calm. "It gave me a few moments of comfort that I took advantage of. I'll get dressed right now."
Bruni just watched her as she shed the blanket and allowed the two younger girls to pull the velvety material of the dress over Clarke's head. She adjusted it carefully before allowing them to tie it in the back. Clarke was honestly stunned at how well the dress fit and how comfortable it was. It was a simple deep blue dress that strapped around her neck and around her waist, allowing her arms and shoulders to be bare. It also showed off her curves and her shoulders which, she guessed, was part of the plan.
It was warm though, going all the way down over her feet. She then spotted the fur half-jacket that went with it and couldn't believe at how beautiful it was. The shawl-like coat was all white, most likely arctic hare, and draped over her shoulders and arms snuggly. She was quite warm now as the girls offered her the choice of two pairs of shoes. Both were simple flats but one was lined with fur. Clarke couldn't help but choose them, slipping her cold toes into them with relief. The drafty room, even with the relit fire, was still cold on her feet.
"I'm going to escort you to princess Roya's rooms," Bruni announced, offering for Clarke to follow her out the door. "I wouldn't try to run or walk slow. We're already late."
"I'm starving," Clarke commented, trying to make light of the situation. "What's for dinner?"
"I don't know," Bruni said, glancing at Clarke curiously over her shoulder as they entered the hallway.
This was the first time that Clarke had been outside the room since she'd arrived in it. In fact, she hadn't seen any of the palace except the dining hall and her room which made her wonder just how large this fortress was. As they walked down the narrow corridor, Clarke noticed that the candelabras on the wall all had reflective metal backings that bounced the light all about the corridor. She also noticed that the only windows in the corridor were up high and thin, paned with thicker glass than her own room.
It was a simple hallway, lined with wooden panels and what appeared to be some sort of patterned tapestry. The colors were dull and the pattern was bland but when the entered the staircase at the end of the hall, Clarke was stunned. It was lined, all the way down, with high rounded windows framed in iron and glass. There were carved patterns around the windowsills as well; wolves, intertwining evergreens, and decorative patterns carved out of dark wood framing the whitewashed walls. Clarke admired it as it reminded her of the old baroque rococo designs of the past that she'd admired growing up as a child. The guild-hall was fashioned after this in Arkadia and Clarke couldn't help but blink back the moisture in her eyes at the memory.
When they'd descended the stairs, Clarke making sure not to put too much strain on her bruised leg, they entered a wide but shallow room. There were doors to either side of her and a door on the wall in front of her which made her curious. The room itself was littered with a few small tables, some benches, chairs, and cushions but it also had a few mounted heads, some straw on the floor, and a simple antler chandelier with a few small candles. There were a few plainly dressed people, in Azgeda furs and leather, sitting at the tables, talking and drinking. Clarke didn't know what this room was for but the scuffmarks on the floor, puddles of water, and laughter suggested it was used as a gambling hall for the palace guards.
Bruni lead Clarke to the door on the left and opened it, motioning for her to follow as they entered another wide but shallow room. It was much better kept than the previous one and had a wall of windows directly on the right. There was a matching door directly across from the one they'd just entered through and the other was on the far wall. This room was ornate and Clarke only had a brief time to marvel at the carved windowsills and ornate ceiling frescos and carvings before being whisked through the doorway opposite the one they had entered through.
This was a thin but long room that stretched into the center of the palace. A framed archway with sanded wooden columns and a carved scene marked the entrance to what Clarke only assumed was the dining hall where she'd first arrived. She made a mental note, looking at the carving above the doorway as they approached. The room was well lit, with a wall of windows like the previous room and Clarke could clearly see the carving. It was two stags who were locked together in battle, nostrils flared and eyes wide. It was almost frightening how realistic the carving was, Clarke's eyes immediately scanning the rest of the room as they walked closer to the archway.
The room was simply outlined around the bottom, divided between wooden panels and detailed rococo designs on top of stained plaster walls. It also had a large stone and iron fireplace along the opposite wall of the one they had entered through. It housed plush benches and comfortable chairs and Clarke also noticed the many furs strung up on the walls. There were a few mounted heads of stags, boars, and elk but the most interesting one, to Clarke, was the head hanging over the fireplace. It had a huge rack of antlers and a massive long snout. Clarke remembers seeing these in the old Ark files at the embassy and smiled at how large moose really were.
"Roan's grandfather killed it during his crowning games," Bruni commented, looking back at Clarke as she admired the moose. "Nothing but a spear and a knife the legend says."
"It's massive," Clarke commented, admiring the scenic paintings that flanked it over the dull gray fireplace. Bruni motioned for her to follow, after a moment, and they went through another smaller doorframe that lead into a large open corridor. Clarke kept up as Bruni guided her along the corridor to the open archway on their right. It led out into the massive room housing an ornate wooden staircase. It was a simple room that featured a gallery above where the staircases intersected into a "T". Clarke admired the decoration of the wooden rails, scenes of battle and hunts framing the elegantly carved staircase as it climbed up to a landing that branched into two opposite staircases. Bruni took the one on the left and when they crested the stairs, Clarke could see that the long gallery stretched from the staircase to the dining hall. There were doors leading off it and light pouring in from the last rays of the sun above the dining hall but the candles casted shadows. It looked spooky but Bruni lead the way as they turned to the right, away from the overlooking gallery and into another corridor. This corridor was darker, candles on the wall reflecting the golden light as they passed by a couple of double doors. Above only a couple of chandeliers made of bone and antler were lit, casting a dull light over them as they approached another set of double doors.
Clarke was about to ask where they were when Roan appeared out of the shadow of the doorframe. He was wearing a long pair of loose linen slacks and a vest of leather and white fur. Clarke admired the simple attire for a moment, noting that it matched hers. Roan, however, didn't hide his interest as he looked her over.
"I knew it would fit," Roan nodded, looking over at Bruni. "Go, eat, come back and wait. If I need to, I'll send for you."
Bruni only nodded, her jaw tight as she disappeared down the dark corridor, the candles reflecting off her pale skin like a ghost as she passed. Clarke watched her leave, only looking up at Roan after she was completely gone. Clarke hadn't noticed that he had moved closer, looking down at her intensely. She wondered what it could be when he suddenly pulled something out of his vest pocket. It was a simple trinket, carved into the shape of a many-petalled flower. It had teeth so it could be used to hold hair or adorn a hairpiece, the little details not escaping her as she gazed down at it. Roan only nodded, offering it up to her again until he finally handed it to Clarke.
"It's meant to be the first betrothal gift, from husband to wife," he commented, keeping his voice casual, almost uninterested. "It is expected of me to present you with a carved gift and I chose a hairpiece."
"Why a hairpiece?" Clarke questioned, admiring the little details and rounded edges in the dim candlelight.
"Because of your hair," he commented, as a matter of fact. "Look at it."
Clarke glared up at him now, moving her hands to tousle the unruly golden curls and frizz. She didn't think it was that bad but when a slight grimace formed on Roan's face, she raised an eyebrow. "What is wrong with my hair?" Clarke asked, her eyes narrowed.
"That's not what I meant," Roan insisted, taking the hairpiece quickly. He then pushed a large portion of her hair back from her face and over her ear, pinning it in place. She couldn't help the blush that formed or how seriously he observed Clarke's appearance. "Your hair is beautiful," Roan commented, looking her over now. "But I can't see your face."
"Oh," Clarke replied, her voice small as he stared down at her. He then smirked, nodding at the door. "Come, my sister is waiting to dine with us. She wants to meet you properly."
"Why did you keep me locked up?" Clarke asked, not really meaning to say it out loud. Roan only looked at her calmly, his eyes roaming over her face until they met her questioning gaze.
"I didn't keep you locked up," Roan replied, turning toward the door now. He offered his arm casually and Clarke took it, swallowing the butterflies and dread that welled in her throat. "You were injured and needed rest so, I gave it to you."
"I was going mad locked in that damn room," Clarke hissed, glaring up at him. "I didn't know if I'd be poisoned or stabbed in my sleep! I didn't even know if I'd ever leave that room again…"
"But here you are, about to dine with your fiancé and his sister," Roan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He then pulled her slightly closer, watching her face for a moment before smiling. "You're not confined to your room anymore."
"But I'm still your prisoner?" Clarke pushed, her eyes darting from him to the door and hen back.
"Technically," he responded, squeezing her arm between his forearm and torso. "But we have a deal. Don't forget your part and I won't forget mine."
Before she could protest, Roan had pushed the double doors open before them, flooding the dim corridor with light. As Clarke's eyes adjusted, Roan pulled her into the room, shutting the door behind them with a snap. Clarke was almost stunned at how bright it was in this room, the fireplace along the wall massive and blazing. Clarke could feel the heat coming off it from the door and looked about the décor curiously. It was a simply adorned room, plastered and whitewashed except for the wall surrounding the large stone fireplace. That wall was made of wood paneling, mounted heads of wolves, boars, and stags surrounding the mantel as dead eyes stared over the chamber.
In the middle, surrounded by plush benches, was a low table laden with silver tableware and glasses. At the center were trays, covered with bronze and silver toppers, and a beautiful arrangement of white roses. Candles had been placed all about the table but that wasn't it. Above the table, illuminating the whole room, was a large chandelier lined with at least twenty candles. They were newly placed, reflecting off the polished gold and silver ceiling tiles giving the entire ceiling an enchanting glow. Clarke was stunned at how simple but beautiful the room was and Roan must have noticed because he squeezed her arm again, gaining her attention.
"This is my sister's prescience chamber," Roan assured, letting go of her arm and moving toward the curtained doorway that lead deeper into the suite. "Roya!?"
"Yeah!" she replied immediately and Roan smirked, shaking his head.
"She'll be out in a minute," he nodded. "You must be thirsty though; sit." He moved over to the table, motioning for her to sit on the plush bench and get comfortable. She complied, glancing at the soft furs that lined the floor under the bench, the warmth emanating from the fire relaxing her weary muscles. This is the most she'd moved in the past two weeks and she felt weak already. "You're pale," Roan commented, pouring her a glass of water from one of the pitchers on the table. "Drink."
Clarke did so, taking a deep breath before regaining her composure, her leg aching slightly as she sat there. She took another drink and glanced over at the doorway before looking up at Roan.
"I'll be fine," Clarke assured, smiling up at him meekly. "It's just fatigue from being cooped up so long." She noted the look of irritation he shot her and she couldn't help but smirk back at him.
"I see you two are getting along," Roya commented, emerging from behind the drapes of the doorway. She was wearing a simple black tunic and matching black leggings. She smiled at her brother before sitting down across from Clarke. She poured herself some wine before turning to Clarke with a rigid but polite smile. "How are you feeling?"
"Better," Clarke admitted, staring into her light blue eyes. "Pretty hungry, to be honest."
"Good!" Roya nodded, taking a large drink from her cup. "Then let's eat. Sit down Roan, your making me nervous."
"Aren't you always nervous?" Roan commented, plopping down on the bench next to Clarke. He poured himself some wine while Roya chuckled, raising her glass.
"It's wise to be cautious," Roya nodded, bringing the cup up to her lips. She then looked back at Clarke, a twinkle in her eyes. "Never know who might come after me."
"Who indeed," Roan murmured, pulling the covers off the silver trays. Inside was some steaming fish, a roasted bird, and a large bowl of what looked like creamed potatoes. Clarke liked the smell, the spices unfamiliar to her; it was much better than the soup, breads, and very heady ale she'd been digesting. She couldn't wait to try the savory smelling roasted bird. She was also curious about the fish, never seeing such a large one before. She waited for Roya to get a portion before she loaded her plate up with a little of each dish.
She didn't really care for decorum at that moment. She was entirely too hungry for something other than liquids and the scent of the cooked meat almost sent her into a frenzy. She could see Roan wasn't holding back either, eating quickly and quietly, his eyes occasionally glancing over at her as she enjoyed her food. Roya, however, was observing them closely, sipping her wine and picking at her meat.
"You aren't even worried that it might be poisoned?" Roya finally spoke, making both Roan and Clarke stop, their eyes firmly on the dark-haired woman in front of them. "You didn't even check the drinks either."
"Is it poisoned?" Roan asked, his tone nonchalant.
"No," Roya shrugged, sipping her wine again.
"You'd be stupid to poison your own table," Roan huffed, taking a large gulp of his wine.
"It'd be the perfect crime," Roya noted, looking over at Clarke. "Poisoning you two and almost poisoning myself would be a good cover."
"Foolish," Roan replied, eating another mouthful of fish. "To attempt murder and fail."
"I wouldn't poison you, brother," Roya assured, a light tone to her voice, almost sing-song. "Or your new woman."
"The meal is delicious," Clarke said before taking a sip of her drink. "Thank you, princess."
"I prefer highness," Roya smirked, her eyes landing on Clarke. "But your title is what we must debate, isn't it?"
"Title?" Clarke asked, her eyes going slightly wide. "Oh no, I don't need- "
"Of course, you do!" Roya chimed, shaking her head. "You're to be the future Queen of Azgeda but that doesn't really roll of the tongue, does it?" She took another sip of her wine now, watching Clarke closely. Clarke couldn't help but feel like any moment her head might be mounted on that wall next to the boars and stags.
"What do you propose?" Clarke asked, her voice steady as she picked at another piece of meat.
"Well, princess isn't really accurate given that you aren't technically royalty," Roya began, a grimace on her face. "And we can't expect you to be called royal fiancé or future queen or something tacky like that. It wouldn't be appropriate but we need something suitable to your station. After all, blood members of the royal family maintain the title of highness or majesty."
"It's all silly," Roan murmured between bites. "She'll be queen, let's just leave it at that."
"It's not good enough," Roya sighed, shaking her head. "He's impossible, really. Roan would prefer to ignore the day-to-day minutia of protocol and title and just have everyone calling each other by their first names. It's all very common and entirely unexpected from the royal family."
"Simple and less time consuming," Roan shrugged.
"But still, Clarke needs a title befitting her station. She isn't the first lady at the court, since that title is given to our mother. Then behind her is myself, cousin Niara, and then we have some second and third cousins I believe, don't we?" Roya smirked at this, waving her hand. "But never mind that. We need a title that suits you. If you were an Azgeda citizen you'd be the daughter of an earl. So, how about we call her royal cousin? It is both simple and illustrious but it also sets you in your own little category. What do you think?"
"So, I'm marrying my cousin?" Roan asked, glancing up at Roya.
"No, royal cousin as in she is fellow royalty and therefore, that makes you cousins," Roya sighed, shaking her head. "That's a bit confusing I suppose…"
"Everything about this conversation is confusing," Roan sighed, looking down at Clarke now. "Why are you being so quiet tonight?"
Clarke was so thrown off by this sudden change of subject that she'd almost stared back at him with baffled disbelief. She just shrugged meekly, looking at her plate intently before picking up her glass of wine. She drank from it slowly before looking back of at Roan to find that he hadn't looked away.
"I'm not sure what to say, what the protocol is for all of this…"
"Nonsense!" Roya said, waving her hand. "You're going to be family and our home is your home. Our food is your food and our conversations, especially when Roan is around, are all inclusive."
"I… I'm really n-not used to – "
"She's nervous and tired, Roya," Roan said, watching Clarke's face. "She's not exactly comfortable around us yet. After all, we did kidnap her." Roan shot his sister a pointed look before turning back to Clarke. "She just needs time to adjust."
"That's right," Roya breathed, as if she had forgotten. "Well, that's why our royal cousin is so quiet. She doesn't know whether we're going to torture her, murder her, or both!" Roya laughed at this, shaking her head before downing the rest of her wine and refilling it. Roan only sighed, turning back to his meal to finish off the second helping he'd piled onto his plate already.
"Enough of that," Roan said, taking a drink of wine. "Just be your usual cheerful and charming self. That should make her more comfortable." Clarke didn't miss the sarcasm in his tone or the way he moved slightly closer to her.
"Right," Roya nodded, leaning back on the bench with her cup. She propped herself on her elbow now and looked over at Clarke, curiously, seeming to take in every feature. Clarke took a nervous drink of her wine to try and calm herself but that only made it worse. She felt light-headed and immediately took a few deep breaths to steady herself on the bench. For a moment she suspected poison but realized there was no way to single out her food specifically. Roya must have noticed her discomfort because she looked over at the fireplace, her light blue eyes glimmering with orange and silver.
"You may think you have something to fear from me but I assure you, it's not true," Roya offered, her voice calm, almost businesslike. Clarke noticed the change in tone and demeanor and wondered if this was all a game to Roya. She wondered if Roya even cared one way or the other, her cold stare firmly focused on the fire dancing in the hearth. "I'm a reasonable woman with reasonable expectations. I don't expect you to be happy about your situation and to be honest, I thought you'd be angrier."
"No point in being angry," Clarke replied, her voice soft. "It won't do any good."
"Good attitude," Roya commented, sipping her wine again. "And I don't expect you to just give up and go through with this match either."
"No point in fighting that either," Clarke admitted. "At least here, I will be Queen."
"So, you're interested in titles, money, and power?" Roya questioned, looking over at Clarke. "You didn't strike me as a power-hungry social climber when we first met."
"And you didn't strike me as calm, cool, and collected but here we are, having a reasonable conversation," Clarke replied, watching Roya's eyes light up at the challenge Clarke was presenting.
"Feisty and smart," Roya commented, glancing at Roan. "At least one of you is."
"I appreciate a good conversation," Clarke commented, her tone lighter now, her voice even. "So, tell me more about Azgeda. This is my first visit after all and so far, I'm not a big fan of the service."
"You're cheeky," Roya chuckled, glancing back at the fire. "Are you telling me you don't like our rustic charm?"
"The charm is nice," Clarke admitted, gazing at the fire as well. "Who built this fortress?"
"Our great-great grandfather," Roya replied, motioning aimlessly. "Rahlan, King of Azgeda."
"Was this always your country's capital?"
"No, Rahlan built the fortress here first and the city sprung up around it," Roya smiled, looking over at Clarke.
"Who makes the rules here?" Clarke asked, pushing a little further. She wanted to know everything she could, even if it did raise suspicion. "I mean, in Arkadia the council decides so it is like the coalition without a commander. Does Azgeda have something like that?"
"The monarch has absolute control over the military and courts," Roya smirked. "If you can call it court."
"What do you mean?"
"Usually people don't commit crimes here," Roya nodded, a sly grin spreading over her lips. "Most of them are petty squabbles between citizens or settlements over land and resources. We settle that with trades, public floggings, or sometimes stoning. Anything more serious will send you to the hangman. We have a zero-tolerance policy for thieves, spies, rapists, deserters, arsonists, and murderers."
"Don't forget tax-dodgers, reformers, and foreigners," Roan commented, finishing another cup of wine.
"Only when they've committed a crime," Roya chuckled, glancing at Roan. "But we don't get many foreigners."
"I can't imagine why," Clarke smirked, taking a drink of her wine. "So, you're a war chief, aren't you?"
"I am," she nodded, looking back at the fireplace. "I am the Warlord of Revhala, our southernmost region."
"And how many regions are there?"
"Four," Roya replied, smirking over her cup as she took another drink. "Nihrdelan in the north, Wistera in the west, Revhala in the south, and Estellan in the east."
"And you govern or…?"
"I govern, I enforce laws, drafts for the military, and many other time-consuming tasks," Roya pointed, turning from the fire and looking directly at Clarke. "Are you going to be asking these kinds of questions all night or…?"
"Sorry," Clarke nodded, setting her cup down. "It's just that Azgeda is so different and if I am to be Queen, I should at least know the basics."
"At least you aren't fighting it," Roya smirked, leaning back against the bench again. "You seem content with us and that, as you can understand, makes me suspicious."
"I've been locked in a small room for the past two weeks without any decent conversation," Clarke shot back, picking up her drink again. "Fighting is just a waste of what little time I may have left."
"You're not going to die," Roya assured, waving at Clarke over her wine. "What would be the point of risking my own life, and the lives of my warriors, to bring you back to Azgeda only to kill you?"
"What's the point of keeping a teenage girl with a fractured leg locked up in a tower for two weeks?" Clarke asked, her tone a little sharper than she'd intended.
"Recovery," Roan replied, glancing over at her as he finished his ale. "You'll have more freedom soon."
"Freedom to return to my home?" Clarke had become impatient and uninterested in both Roya and Roan's threats.
"So, you've not given up the fight entirely," Roya replied, watching Clarke bemusedly.
"I've been shuffled into a dark room like I have some sort of plague," Clarke remarked, her voice even. "I've been abducted and forced to live far from my home with people who may or may not want me dead. I am entitled to know exactly what my role is here and what, if anything, I can expect from your family; I am not being unreasonable."
"Be quiet," Roan groaned, rolling his eyes at Clarke before refilling both of their cups. "This is not the time or place to start complaining about how you've been treated and what you are owed."
"If not now, then when?" Clarke retorted, her eyes narrowed on him.
"She wants to know our plan," Roya interrupted, smirking at Roan. Her voice was playful but she was not smiling.
Clarke looked between them both slowly before taking her cup, drinking half of it in one swallow. She wasn't sure if it was because she was stupid or if she needed some liquid courage. Either way, she wasn't going to stop pushing the matter until she knew exactly what was expected. Even Roan's plans of betrayal and protection weren't enough to silence her fears and suspicion.
"You're such a pathetic child," Roya sighed, glaring over at Clarke with annoyance. "You want to know your place? What is expected of you? Then shut up and listen."
"Roya…" Roan warned, his eyes glancing between the two women.
"Your place is here, in this castle, where you will remain for the rest of your pampered life," Roya chided, leaning back in her seat. "You'll be crowned queen and have plenty of children to keep you company as you grow old. You'll have power, influence, and perhaps you'll be able to protect your precious Arkadia. You'll have all of this and be content with the knowledge that your children will all be royalty; always protected and always cared for."
"And I am supposed to believe you?" Clarke questioned, her eyes wide.
"In exchange for this gracious gift," Roya continued, as if she hadn't heard Clarke's question. "You'll be silent, you'll be obedient, and you will say thank you for such an opportunity."
"And if I don't?" Clarke questioned, her jaw squared. The room had gone silent for a moment, both women glaring at one another across the table.
"Then I'll lock you in that room and send my army south to wipe out every single Arkadian I can find," Roya cautioned, a smirk growing on her face. "I'll leave behind nothing but burning earth and smoking ruins in my path. I'll batter down the gates of Arkadia, string up everyone you hold dear, and send them to you in your little room, piece by piece until you go mad with grief. Then, I'll feed you and every Arkadian woman I find to my army." Her voice had risen now, her tone dangerous and her conviction written in her eyes.
"The only thing that will be left of Arkadia will be the bastards born from my soldiers as they trample your proud walled-city into the dirt from which it has risen," Roya spat, standing from the bench now. "And then, when all of this is done, I'll cut off that pretty blonde hair for myself and mount that pretty head of yours on the walls of this very fort as a warning for our enemies."
"You'd speak to the future queen like this?" Roan asked, gaining Roya's attention as she tore her gaze away from Clarke's horrified face.
"She's not queen yet," Roya spat, turning from the table. "You'd do well to rein in your bride, brother. If she'd have said such things to our mother, she'd be dead already."
"Now who is being unreasonable?" Roan commented, standing from the table. He then turned to Clarke, a look of disappointment and annoyance written all over his face. "Come on, let's go." He then reached down, grabbed her wrist firmly, and almost pulled her out of her seat. She glared at him for a moment before shuffling to follow, the room silent as the two of them crossed to the door.
When it was firmly shut behind them, the hallway still dark from the fading candles, Roan squeezed her arm, gaining her attention. She looked up at him only to discover that his face was much too close to hers. She could feel his breath on her cheeks, the intensity of his light blue eyes shining in the limited lighting. Clarke felt her breath hitch in her throat as he looked at her, that familiar fear turning her stomach uncomfortably.
"I warned you," Roan whispered, the tone of his voice hinting at the frustration growing inside him. "I warned you that my mother and sister were the real danger but you didn't listen to me at all. You didn't even try to control yourself…"
"You expected me to just sit there and let her dictate my future to me?" Clarke snapped, trying to wrench her arm from his grasp. "Are you insane?"
"Follow me," Roan grunted, loosening his grip only slightly as he turned from her.
"Why should I?" Clarke spat, pulling her arm from his grip "So you can lock me up again?"
In one swift movement Clarke was off her feet, a startled gasp escaping her lips as Roan's arm wrapped around her hips. He had lifted her over his shoulder and was caring her like a sack of flour down the corridor. Clarke struggled for a moment, trying to wiggle out of his grip but he quickly patted her injured leg with his other hand, halting her immediately.
"Relax," he said, leading her back to the staircase and gallery she'd come from earlier that night. "I just need to talk to you and I can't do it here."
"I can walk, you know!" she squeaked, covering her face with her hands. She couldn't help the embarrassment that had welled in both her chest and cheeks. She could feel them burning as his chest vibrated with what she only assumed was a chuckle.
"It's a long way and there are some stairs," Roan commented, his hand resting dangerously close to her backside.
"P-please," Clare almost begged, her hands pushing on his shoulders so she could glimpse his face.
"I'm not trying to make you feel uncomfortable," Roan replied, his hand moving down her leg. "This is just faster."
"I'm slung over your shoulder like a fresh kill!" Clarke hissed, making him chuckle again. "Please, at least let me adjust myself."
Roan paused now, the gallery overlooking the vast dining hall below was better lit than the corridor. He pulled her down from being bent over his shoulder and allowed her to stand on her feet. She glanced up at him sheepishly before adjusting the dress and wrapping her arms around his neck. He lifted her effortlessly and they walked in silence along the gallery, Clarke trying to focus on her surroundings as he held her uncomfortably close.
"Where are we going?" Clarke asked when they had entered a narrow corridor, the gallery disappearing behind them. Clarke looked about, the corridor lined on one side with tall rounded windows and wood paneling.
"My rooms," he replied, his voice even as they emerged from the corridor into an open and inviting room. There was a large fireplace on one wall and the floors were littered with fur rugs and woven mats. It had plush benches with large cushions and a couple of small tables that held candlesticks and what looked like game pieces. It was the most welcoming and comfortable room Clarke had been in so far and she wondered if it was ever used.
Roan didn't say anything as the crossed the room toward an archway that lead into another adjoining corridor. This one had no windows and only a few candles, the darkness of it making Clarke slightly uneasy. She couldn't help but tense up as they passed by a few darkened doorways and a few broken panels. Roan must have noticed because his grip tightened slightly as he walked, stopping short of the staircase ahead of them that lead up into the darkness of another upper floor.
"I prefer my privacy," Roan admitted, turning to look at her. "You have nothing to worry about."
Clarke only nodded as they made their way up the stairs, the effort almost unrecognized by Roan as they crested the last stair. At the top was a corridor leading both ways and Clarke took note of Roan's left turn, glancing over the wide and elegantly decorated details as he stopped in front of a door. Clarke gently slid from his arms as he set her on her feet, pulling a key from his pocket and turning it in the lock.
He pushed the door in slowly and moved aside, allowing Clarke to enter first. The room was bright, not as bright as Roya's but the white antler and bone chandelier hanging from the ceiling had over a dozen candles. The walls were covered in tapestries that depicted forest scenes and a large simple stone fireplace stood opposite the door Roan had just shut behind them.
"It's not as nice as some of the other rooms in the palace," Roan admitted, moving to throw more wood on the low flames. "But it's comfortable."
"It looks comfortable," Clarke assured, looking over the plush couches and cushions covered in furs and linens. Clarke also noticed the short but long table that sat in the center of them. It was ornately carved and polished with rutting deer carved into the legs. She sat down on one of the plush couches just as Roan finished stoking the fire, sinking into the cushions comfortably.
"So," Clarke drawled, watching him as he moved to sit on the couch to her right. "What did you want to discuss?"
"That was stupid," Roan replied, watching her calmly. "Challenging my sister is only going to anger my mother and that wrath you do not want."
"And I'm supposed to believe every word she said?" Clarke questioned, crossing her arms over her chest.
"No," Roan sighed, massaging his neck before closing his eyes in exasperation. "Lying is in her nature but challenging her, while my mother is still in power, is not a wise move."
"And staying silent and accepting her plans is?"
"Much wiser than provoking her," Roan assured, looking at her again. "Do you not understand the position we are both in?"
"I don't think it will matter either way," Clarke sighed, shaking her head defiantly. "If they want me dead, they will find a way."
"Still, riling her up is not in your best interest," Roan smirked, looking over at the fire. "Take my word for it."
"Your word?" Clarke scoffed, looking over at the fire as well.
"I'm good to my word," Roan shot back, meeting her eyes. "Even if you don't believe me. Just tread lightly from here on. I can't have you dying before I've made my move."
"I'm grateful for your concern," Clarke mumbled, moving to stand. "Can I go now?"
"You'll stay here from now on," Roan said, standing as well. "It is customary for the future king and queen to share the same bed the season before the wedding. Since this was short notice, the next few months will have to be enough."
"Are you joking?" Clarke laughed, shaking her head. "I won't share your bed, no matter what the tradition is."
"You don't have to," Roan growled, turning from her and walking toward a door on his right. "You'll take my bed and I'll stay next door in the solarium."
"Solarium?" Clarke questioned, glancing at the door he was about to open. She couldn't help the curiosity that started bouncing around her mind, never having been in a solarium before.
"Come," Roan nodded, opening the plain wooden door. Clarke followed him slowly into the next room and was amazed at the sight before her. The room was rounded on one side with a plush wooden bench that curved with it. Above the bench, set neatly in rows, were tall rectangular windows that looked over the entire city. Rooftops stretched out in the dark and cast shadows over the lighted avenues below as the waxing moon shone over the distant evergreens and hills. Clarke didn't want to tear her eyes away but the view above her was even more spectacular. Three glass windows stretched across the ceiling and revealed the night sky in all its glory. Clarke had almost forgotten where she was, marveling at the thousands of stars above her.
"It's dark here in the winter," Roan explained, moving to the opposite side of the room. Clarke didn't even notice that he had already pulled his top off and was pouring himself a glass of ale. "We have fewer hours of sunlight so the solarium takes advantage of them."
"It's a beautiful view," Clarke replied, turning from the view now to spot the shirtless prince. She quickly looked away, turning back to the city that sprawled out before her. She noticed that they were higher up than her old room and she wondered if there were any other rooms on a higher floor than this.
"You should get some sleep," Roan insisted, moving to stand next to her. Clarke had noticed that he stood close enough to feel the heat radiating from him. It was almost comforting and she immediately dismissed it, turning to him with a simple smile.
"I will," she assured, bowing her head slightly. "Thank you for the meal and the new room. It is much more spacious than the last."
"If you need anything, I'll be here," he smiled back, nodding for her to go. "The bedchamber is the room beyond the fireplace. It's spacious and warm. Guards will be on watch outside my chamber so stay in the suite. If you need a bathroom, there is a privy chamber just off the bedroom. It's clean." He noted the look of relief on her face. "Now go, it's late." She didn't need telling twice, exiting the room with a snap of the door.
"Don't get too cocky!" Lincoln yelled, barely missing Bellamy with his sword as they moved around one another, ready to clash again.
Bellamy only nodded, the clanging of swords echoing about them as they scuffled across the sand. The practice arena was empty that morning, the sun barely risen when Bellamy arrived. It had been two hours since then and he had not beaten Lincoln once. They'd battled with axes, maces, spears, and swords and yet Bellamy could not beat him. For a week he's been meeting up with his former teacher to practice and every day he lost. It was starting to frustrate him and the harder he fought, the more he fumbled.
"Your head isn't in this!" Lincoln yelled, shoving Bellamy to his knees, the dirt billowing in a great cloud as he fell to his side. "Let's stop, take a break."
"No," Bellamy assured, springing to his feet. "Keep going."
"We've been at it for hours," Lincoln replied, lowering his sword. "Take a break."
Bellamy only groaned, lowering his sword and moving toward the doorway directly behind him. He ignored Lincoln's calls and questions as he entered the corridor under the stands. It led down into a cool, dark room beneath the many benches that housed the sparring gear. Bellamy's discarded shirt and his flask of ale sat poised on a bench. He picked them both up, slinging the shirt over his shoulder lazily before taking a drink. He ran his hand through his hair before moving to the trickling fountain in the corner of the room, capping his flask.
After splashing his face and cooling off the back of his neck, he took a large gulp from the clear spring, gasping for air afterward. He hadn't realized how warm it had become that morning, the breeze almost sticky with heat. He took a large gulp from his flask now, the buzz from the entire bottle earlier that morning still swimming in his head. He'd been drinking a lot more lately, the failed search for Clarke and the Azgeda warriors who took her driving him to the edge of madness only a week ago.
He'd searched for days, endlessly, some nights without sleep. He'd rounded up a search party of almost 100 soldiers and guards to comb the countryside for any trace of the abductors but came up emptyhanded. They had managed to make it north, across their border and into Azgeda territory which, to Bellamy's frustration and anger, they knew little about. They'd travelled entirely too far into Azgeda territory and in the process, lost almost half their number to traps, misdirection, and Azgeda scouts. Bellamy wasn't afraid to admit that after such an ordeal, he was a broken man.
The pain, which had been unbearable, had been numbed by the excessive amounts of alcohol and drugs his friends had been happy enough to provide. Since he'd returned, he hadn't been home either. Jon had allowed him to stay in one of his properties, Bellamy's resolve to avoid the shame associated with his family the only sober decision he's made in the past week. His father had been arrested, charged, and put on house arrest indefinitely, the council deciding to spare him his life due to previous services to Arkadia. The shame, however, was not forgiven; the whole of the city was outraged at his father's involvement in Clarke's abduction.
He'd confessed to working with Azgeda and had received leniency but the dishonor it brought upon both Octavia and Bellamy was inescapable. Business had suffered, many of their clients and deals starting to slow down or fall through all together. Some shops, factories, and even some of the houses that the Blake's rented out had become abandoned over the past week and most of their former allies had refused to continue doing business.
It was only because Jon, Monty, and Harper pulled strings to maintain the Blake manufacturing business that they weren't completely unraveled. Bellamy's only concern, at this point, was the welfare of his sister and how he would create a comfortable future for her. Bellamy had become distracted by this thought daily, in quiet moments when his mind wasn't tortured by Clarke's disappearance. Moments like these, when the alcohol had control of his mind, were when he would dwell on what could have been and what was meant to be. It stabbed at him from within, turning his stomach and setting every nerve ablaze. It also released every emotion, every regret Bellamy held about Clarke. It was then that a voice from behind drew him from his drunken thoughts.
"At it again?" Jon asked, smirking over at his drunken friend. "Self-pity isn't a good look for you."
"Fuck off," Bellamy grumbled, taking another drink from his flask.
"Still haven't won yet?"
"Did you just come down here to make fun of me?" Bellamy asked, pulling the dark blue linen shirt over his head, losing his balance briefly before steadying himself on the edge of the small fountain.
"No, I came down here to pull you from your drunken stupor," Jon assured, moving to help him. "Come on, let's get you some food and I'll tell you what happened at the emergency summit this morning."
"I don't care," Bellamy replied, shoving him aside as he passed. "I'm going to the fights this afternoon. I don't have time for bullshit."
"The council and the coalition have a plan to bring her home- "
"Just shut up about it already," Bellamy grumbled, leaving Jon in the room behind him. He could hear him following along but Bellamy didn't care, moving from the corridor out into the crowded morning street.
"I never pegged you for a quitter or a selfish coward but boy, was I wrong," Jon commented, coming to stand in front of him, blocking his path. "I'm not going to enable your childish behavior so follow me to get some food or you can find another place to live."
Bellamy glared at him for a moment, the mid-morning sun nearly blinding him as he stood there swaying. He turned it over in his mind, the thought of Jon droning on about edicts and treaties giving him a headache. However, the growling of his stomach was more disturbing and Bellamy agreed that a good meal might just be worth the harassment.
"Let's just get this over with," Bellamy sighed, taking another sip of the ale before following Jon up the street toward the market. He didn't dare admit that a little twinge of hope had stirred in his heart; he refused to imagine the look of self-satisfaction on Jon's face.