A/N: As promised, here is a little explanation for the Clarke vs. Eliza thing: I chose the name Elizabeth/Eliza because it's easy to picture Clarke's face with that name. I thought it would be harder for the reader to associate a random name like Frankie with Clarke's face. That said, the character Eliza is not in anyway supposed to be EJT. Clarke Griffin and Elizabeth Kane are written as two different iterations of our beloved bi princess from the show. Clarke in this story embodies the angsty, hard-working, sardonic aspects of TV Clarke while Eliza contains more of the sharp, calculating, rebellious traits of TV Clarke. Hope that makes sense!

Also, this story is not beta-ed so please forgive any minor errors. I try to read over my own stuff as much as possible, but I am human and occasionally miss a few things.

Wembley, Polis - December 19th 2018 - 10:00 CET

"Are we there yet?" Madi pokes her head over the center console, glancing between Bellamy and Clarke.

"Almost," the blonde appeases, ruffling Madi's hair as Bellamy turns the rental car away from the main road.

The landscape outside glistens a brilliant shade of white; almost everything, even the road in places, is covered in a thick layer of powdery snow. And though Clarke is not prone to sentiment, she cannot help but feel that there is something magical about the sight. Quaint, colorful cottages are nestled within frosted pine trees, each house displaying an array of icicles which drip like royal icing from the gables. The vista appears so beautiful and pristine compared to the dirty, city snow of Chicago that it makes Clarke smile and roll down the window. She takes a deep breath of the crisp air and grins back at the two people with her, thankful that she allowed herself to be convinced into coming.

The car slows to a stop outside a little farmhouse, its pale surface almost hidden amongst the landscape. The green wreath on the door and the red ribbons wrapped around the porch keep the cottage from completely disappearing into the backdrop.

"We're here!" Bellamy calls.

Madi bounds out of the car before the engine has fully died and Clarke rolls out after her, catching up to the girl as she runs up the steps. "It's like Clara's house in the nutcracker!"

"If you say so," Clarke laughs and pulls the keys from her pocket. The two tumble into the house, closely followed by Bellamy with their bags.

"Thanks for your help, ladies," he comments wryly as he stomps the snow from his boots and sets their luggage inside the door.

"Oops," Madi giggles.

"Why don't you carry these upstairs, squirt?"

The child pouts, "Can't we do that later?"

"Don't you want to explore the house?" Clarke asks, helping Bellamy drag their bags towards the stairs.

Madi rests her torso over the top of the couch to look at them, "Nope. I wanna explore the village."

"They are supposed to have a great Christmas fair in the center of town." Bellamy looks at Clarke.

Madi claps her hands, delighted, "We can buy stockings!"

"I dunno, guys," Clarke shakes her head even as she pulls a piece of paper from the back pocket of her jeans. "It's not on our itinerary. And I want to get to the competition set early so we can double check the equipment."

"Wow," Madi groans, falling back on the couch limply. "Sound like so much fun."

"Hey!"

"Madi's right, Clarke," Bellamy slips the list from her hand. "Don't you think you're being a little…"

"What?"

"…Neurotic?"

"Excuse me?"

"You know what I mean," Bellamy chuckles. "They say life is what happens when you're busy making other plans."

"Don't quote John Lennon at me. That's playing dirty."

He grins, "And?"

"You know what they also say? That a goal without a plan is just a wish."

"C'mon, Clarke. We can go have a little fun and still get to the set early. Plus, the world won't implode if you don't follow your list."

"Ha ha," Clarke rolls her eyes, but her resolve fades as both Blakes stare at her with those big, doey brown eyes. They really are like human-sized puppies. "Fine," she mutters, but adds quickly as their faces light up. "Only after we've put this crap away! You know my other favorite saying, 'clean house—"

"—clear head,'" the two intone back, sharing an amused look at Clarke's predictability.

It only takes twenty minutes for them to put away their luggage and unpack. Then the trio is back in the car and strolling around the town square soon after. And Clarke admits grudgingly that the Blakes were right because the decorations really are something. The whole town of Wembley has been done up for Christmas - fat streamers of red and gold weave over the street and a giant Christmas tree dominates the city center, decorated with ornaments the size of Madi's face. A variety of vendors have set up booths along the square, selling anything from handmade jewelry to roasted chestnuts.

Clarke smiles as Madi takes off running, the kid's attention caught by the stage at the far end where a troupe of young ballerinas perform. The blonde pulls her long navy coat tighter and adjusts her baseball cap.

"I gotta—" Bellamy starts, his gaze tracking Madi through the crowd.

Clarke nudges him, "Go. I'll grab the stockings."

"Thanks!"

She wanders through the stalls until she finds a display that attracts her attention. The stockings appear to be hand stitched, depicting all different landmarks around Wembley in traditional holiday colors.

"They're beautiful," she remarks to the vendor, an elderly man with a wizened face and wiry beard.

He smiles kindly. "Each one is completely unique."

"I'll take these three, please."

"Wonderful!"

Clarke looks around the square as the man bags up the stockings. A group of rowdy boys run by with snowballs in hand. The blonde chuckles, watching them streak through the crowd and pelt unsuspecting bystanders. "Is it always this festive?" she asks the vendor, gesturing at the surrounding market.

"Wembley is known for its holiday flare," the old man hands her the bag, "but this year is particularly special because of the royal wedding."

"Wedding?"

"Our queen is marrying the Duchess of Arkadia this Christmas. Her grace is actually in town at the moment. Touring the set for the International Baking Competition, I believe."

A little cough rings out and both the old man and Clarke look down. Madi has mysteriously appeared beside her, though Bellamy is nowhere in sight. The child cocks her head and asks the vendor, "Who is the Duchess of… of Arkaaaadia?"

"The duchess is a very fine lady… though she's a bit camera shy. To be honest, no one really knows what she looks. Though if the rumors are true, she is a great beauty like our queen."

"And the queen—"

"Madi!" Bellamy's deep voice cuts off the little girl's question as he pushes through the crowd. "There you are. How many times have I told you to stay close when we're in a crowded place?"

"It's okay, dad," the girl pats Bellamy's hand. "I knew you wouldn't get lost."

Clarke raises her eyebrows, biting back a laugh, "Where did you go?"

"I watched the dancers! And look what they gave me!" Madi holds out a flyer.

"A summer dance program? Wow, it looks—" Bellamy pauses, grimacing. "Madi, it's over ten thousand euros. You know we can't afford something like this."

"But—"

"No buts. Just facts."

Clarke pulls the girl into her side, "Come on, Mads. How about we go spy on the secretive duchess? What do you say? Want to catch a glimpse of royalty?"

"A duchess isn't royalty, Clarke," Madi states glumly. "Nobility, but not royalty."

"Wow, you are just as much of a nerd as Bellamy. Why am I not surprised?"

A large black limousine turns the corner as Clarke and Madi step into the street. It's green flags whip in the wind and catch Clarke's eye just in time. She steps back swiftly, pulling Madi by her coat. The two stumble into Bellamy's tall frame right before the sleek car barrels past. Clarke's heart beats out of her throat and her body flashes hot then cold. She feels something surge up within her and steps back into the road, hitting the end of the car as it goes by.

"Watch where you're going, asshole!" she shouts after the retreating vehicle, then turns back to Madi. "Are you okay?"

But the child is already fending off Bellamy's worried hands, "I'm fine, dad."

Both adults breathe a sigh of relief and flank Madi as they continue to walk through Wembley, keeping a watchful eye while making their way towards the competition set. Bellamy buys Madi a hot chocolate which seems to appease the child a bit. But Clarke knows he is not satisfied. Bellamy is quiet the whole walk and Clarke can tell he is thinking about the summer dance program. He has always wanted to give his daughter the world and to feel incapable of that… Clarke wishes she knew the right words which would cheer him, but no amount of assurance from her could change Bellamy's mind.

They reach the large building where the competition will be held and find their way inside. Clarke sets Madi the task of counting the baking trays and cake pans so that the girl won't get any ideas about wandering off. Inventory takes more time then she would like, but after about thirty minutes, Clarke states confidently, "Okay! It's all here."

"Check and check," Bellamy nods towards her flattened list and Clarke rolls her eyes.

"Not this again."

"You know what they say," Bellamy grins, "'life goes on regardless'…or something like that."

"You don't even know the quote!"

"I—"

"It's Robert Frost, actually."

Both Bellamy and Clarke twist around to see a tall woman with long brown hair leaning against their work station. They glance at each other, but the woman simply saunters around. She holds a coffee cup in one hand and presents the other to Bellamy.

"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on. The quote is Robert Frost. And I'm Echo," she smiles in a sharp, feline way. "The competition."

"Oh," Bellamy frowns, "well in that case you should meet Clarke. She's the baker."

"Hi," Clarke waves casually. The woman, Echo, only raises her eyebrows before turning back to Bellamy.

"And you are?"

"Her sous chef," he nods towards Clarke.

"Yes," she fairly purrs, "I figured. But what's your name, handsome."

"It's Bellamy Blake," Clarke supplies quickly, trying to hold back her amusement at Bellamy's disgruntled expression. He's not eager to prolong this interaction.

"Clarke?" Echo turns towards the blonde. Clarke smiles sweetly. "I look forward to showing you what real artistry in baking looks like."

"We'll see, won't we?"

Echo stares for a moment, then says over her shoulder, "Nice to meet you, Bellamy." She moves to brush past Clarke, but stumbles slightly… as if she has tripped over something. As if the floor is not made of smooth, spotless concrete. Her paper cup crumples against Clarke's apron and hot brown liquid spreads across the blue material, causing the blonde to yelp. Echo smirks, "Oops, so sorry."

Clarke stares down at herself, ignoring the retreating woman to murmur curses at her now stained apron.

Bellamy lets out a noise of disgust, "What a bi—"

"Mean lady?" Madi supplies as she pokes her head up from the other side of the counter.

"Yeah," he mutters. "That's exactly what I was going to say."

"It's fine," Clarke sighs, brushing off as much of the liquid as possible. "We have some free time for the next few hours. I'll just go buy a new one. This stain is definitely not coming out."

"We'll come with you."

Clarke shakes her head, "No, no. Madi doesn't want to shop for a stupid apron."

"But—" Bellamy starts.

"You're always complaining about my schedule, so just enjoy the freetime, okay?"

"But—" Madi adds.

Clarke narrows her eyes at the pair, "I'll meet you back at the house."

"Fine," they huff at her. Clarke gives them an amused smile before heading towards the exit.

Madi and Bellamy watch her leave, both leaning against the counter. Bellamy sighs and then Madi repeats the sound, mirroring his posture.

"What?"

The kid glances at Clarke's retreating figure before looking back at her dad, "Why can't you and Clarke just be a thing?"

Bellamy laughs and ruffles her hair, "Because, squirt."

"Because is not an answer."

He shrugs his broad shoulders. "Clarke and I have been friends since high school. Almost thirteen years. Don't you think if sparks were going to fly, it would have happened by now?"

"So you've never…."

"Nope."

"But you could," Madi insists.

"It's just not like that between us. She's a little too bossy… for a person like me, that is! We would drive eachother crazy."

"People can change!"

"Not that much, squirt," Bellamy shakes his head and pulls his daughter into a hug. "Not that much."

Wembley, Polis - December 19th 2018 - 12:15 CET

The car slows to a crawl before the four story building, stopping at last in front of the glass doors. Eliza sighs and runs a hand over her caramel-colored jumpsuit before lowering her Burberry sunglasses.

"Just wait for me around the corner, please," she orders the driver. "I won't be more than ten minutes."

"Yes, your grace."

She exists the charcoal Audi and walks towards the building's entrance. Her heels click against the pavement as she steps through the cleared path, avoiding the snow piled on either side. Her attention is so focused on finding secure footing that she doesn't notice when the door swings open in front of her or look up to see the figure who hurtles through it.

Eliza lets out a loud huff as her body hits a solid wall. Her glasses fly off on impact and she stumbles back a few steps as they clatter to the hard ground. Biting back her irritation, she quickly bends down to retrieve them.

"I'm so sorry!" A voice cries out and Eliza sees a pair of Converse poke into her field of vision and then a different hand reaches for her glasses at the same time. Their heads clack together and Eliza lets out another puffing exhale. She gives up on her shades and straightens, one hand to her aching brow. The troublesome sunglasses are thrust into her free hand only a moment later.

"I'm so sor—" A sharp inhale cuts off the muttered apology.

Eliza finally looks at her would-be attacker and feels her own breath sucked from her throat. The woman standing before her is… is… her. No, not her. But an almost identical copy. The same blue eyes which have stared back from Eliza's mirror everyday for the past twenty-seven years now widen across from her, in another woman's face. The same flaxen blonde hair is tied in a low ponytail and much longer than Eliza's own bob. An absurd baseball cap that says 'Cubs' is pulled low over the woman's forehead. Eliza rubs the bruise on her scalp, wondering for a moment if she hit her head far harder than she realizes. Then the apparition speaks.

"Who are you?"

Eliza is almost expecting her own voice to come out of the woman's mouth, but it's completely different. Lower. Raspy. And distinctly American in cadence.

"Who am I?" Eliza raises her eyebrows, "Who are you?"

The woman's forehead furrows slightly, "Oh, right. Sorry! I'm Clarke. Clarke Griffin."

Eliza feels her brain turn to sludge for about thirty seconds. She wonders if she has somehow stumbled into a parallel universe like in all those Sci-fi novels she used to read. Then she wonders if her dismal mood has somehow enacted a Christmas Carol and this woman is her reckoning. Finally, Eliza reminds herself that she is nearly thirty years old and those 'explanations' defy logic. She clears her throat and smiles, years of breeding taking over.

"It's nice to meet you, Clarke."

"You too… Uh…"

"Elizabeth Kane, Duchess of Arkadia."

Clarke blanches and fidgets awkwardly. "You're the one marrying the queen." It's not a question.

Eliza nods and then flushes as Clarke attempts a clumsy solute that is halfway between a bow and a curtsy. Her mouth begins to move in starts, but Eliza isn't listening. She's noticing the distinct difference in their mannerisms. The woman before her is entirely unique no matter how similar they appear. Eliza's chest relaxes a little at that.

"...so I have to get a new apron," Clarke is speaking quickly. "And I really wasn't looking when I pushed through the doors which it totally my fault. Anyways, I am really sorry—"

"It's fine, truly—"

"—I'm a baker. In the competition. Obviously! I don't know if I said that… I'm in the competition. Which you obviously know about… your highness."

"Grace."

"What?"

"It's 'your grace' not 'your highness,'…but honestly it really doesn't matter. Just call me, Eliza."

The woman named Clarke nods and Eliza feels that surreal deja-vu sweep over her again. It's uncanny how completely identical they are to each other. Like twins, though Eliza has never had any immediate family besides her father. No siblings. Her mother died in childbirth. It's always just been her.

An idea strikes Eliza so fast that she inhales sharply and bites her lip to keep from blurting it out. A featherlight fluttering begins in Eliza's stomach, inflating her spirits until they are higher than they have been in months. But she needs to tread carefully. To not let herself get carried away by some crazy scheme like she so often does. She needs a way to test the efficacy of her insane idea.

"You said you are a baker?" Eliza steps forward, hoping her expression is curious.

"Yeah, I own a shop in Chicago."

"That's grand," Eliza beams. "I've actually been looking for a second opinion on my wedding cake, but I haven't been able to find the right person. Are you available now by any chance? For a consultation?"

"Well, I need to go buy an apron—"

"I'm sure we can supply you with one from the castle," Eliza insists, guiding Clarke towards the street even as she hails her driver.

"Are you sure? Don't you need to inspect the set or something?"

"There's no rush," Eliza places a reassuring hand on Clarke's arm and then makes a show of hesitating. "…but if you're busy, I could always ask someone else?"

"No!" Clarke shakes her head adamantly. "No, no. I'm free. Free as a bird. No plans. It would be an honor to help you with your wedding cake."

"Brilliant."

The two women duck into the charcoal sedan and the vehicle speeds off towards the palace. Eliza tries to keep Clarke occupied, asking as many questions as possible. Her doppleganger replies amiably though Eliza can tell the woman is less than comfortable with the personal probing. Yet nothing about Clarke's past stands out to the duchess. Any hidden connection between them is not something Eliza can uncover on her own. So instead she asks questions and studies the woman's posture, speech, and mannerisms throughout the entire drive.

When they arrive, Eliza asks the driver to pull around the back. Clarke seems oblivious to the fact that they are using the servants entrance; the woman's head twists in every direction, looking dazed by the grandiose french-style chateau.

"Just through there," Eliza gestures towards the door to her chambers and then falls back deliberately. She pretends to fix the strap of her heel as her double rushes past. But before Clarke can even knock, the door swings open. The moment of truth.

"What on earth are you wearing, Liza?" Raven's dry voice rings out.

Clarke looks stunned, "What?"

"This is pretty far out, even for you. I know you said—"

Eliza straightens quickly and strides up to the pair with a wicked grin. "Raven, meet Clarke. Clarke meet Raven. She's helping me with my wedding cake dilema."

Raven's brown eyes dart back and forth between Eliza and Clarke as the two blondes enter. Eliza catches the brunette's gaze and raises her eyebrows in a silent request. Raven's eyes widen as she closes the door and leans against it. "Right. Your wedding cake problem."

"Mmhmm," Eliza hums, grinning, and turns around to face Clarke who is admiring the silk divan. "Tea?"

Clarke cocks her head, glancing between the two. "Sure?"

Eliza rings for tea and the three sit down with refreshments. Clarke fidgets and Eliza imagines the woman feels out of place in such a manicured space. Even the teacups are made of such thin porcelain that one uncoordinated sip might shatter a gold-enameled rim. Eliza understands the discomfort well although she has had years to practice dissociating from it.

"So," Clarke starts after one cautious sip. "How can I help with your cake?"

"Actually, I was hoping you would help me with something else."

"Other than cake? I'm fairly skilled with all baked goods, but cakes are my specialty. Although—"

"It has nothing to do with your skill as a pastry chef."

"Oh?"

"I'm sure you're aware of how… similar we look."

Clarke snorts, "I'm American, but I'm not an idiot."

"Of course," Eliza smiles before continuing. "My life has been planned for me from infancy and, with my wedding a little over a week away, I've had no opportunity to just be. To just live. Outside of the constraints of my duty."

"I don't really see how I can help you there."

"I want to experience normal life. Get to know the people to whom I'm about to become sovereign over."

"You want me to teach you to be normal?" Clarke frowns, glancing between Eliza and Raven. "I think you're being a little too hard on yourself."

Eliza laughs, "No, I want you to switch places with me."

"Excuse me?"

"Just for a few days!"

"Ummm, what?"

"I want—"

"No, I heard you the first time," Clarke waves her hand. "I'm just reassessing my evaluation of your sanity."

"Excuse me?" Eliza scoffs even as Raven lets out a sharp cough that sounds almost like a laugh.

"I just mean that although we may look alike, people are bound to notice that I am not you."

"No one will notice."

"Even your fiancé?"

"Especially my fiancé," Eliza grimaces. "Even were it not for the fact that the queen is leaving, Alexandra would hardly notice a difference. We spend very little time together as it is and what time we do spend is mostly in silence."

"Which brings up another issue."

"Yes?"

"Our accents are different."

Eliza clears her throat and lowers her voice, speaking in a more monotone way which elongates her vowels. "That won't be a problem for me."

Clarke blinks and then shakes her head, "Well, I'm shit with accents."

"I can help with that," Raven leans back in her chair.

Eliza can clearly see Clarke's reticence. The woman is on the verge of refusing. It's an insane plan afterall. Eliza knows it, but still she tries to hold back the desperation in her voice as she asks, "What can I do to make it worth your while?"

Clarke seems to think for a moment. "You wouldn't happen to know who runs the summer dance program in Wembley, would you?"

"Why?"

"My god-daughter has her heart set on attending, but her dad can't afford it and neither can I."

Eliza breathes in, hope filling her lungs. "Consider it done."

"Really?"

"Truly."

"Okay."

"Okay, you'll do it?"

"Okay. I'll do it."

Raven wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, "Let's get to work then."

The Palace, Outside of Wembley, Polis - December 19th 2018 - TK CET

Clarke thinks she must be crazy. There's no other possible explanation for why she would agree to do something so reckless. The very idea that she, a slightly awkward baker from Chicago with a laissez-faire attitude towards fashion, could pretend to be this glamorous socialite is laughable. Without ever mentioning the accent!

Still, she lets herself be dragged out of her chair and into the large bathroom. Her stomach twists into knots when Raven pulls out scissors and begins to attack the length of her hair. She hasn't cut it in years and the blonde tresses nearly reach her waist. Clarke swallows as the first section falls to the floor, trying to picture Madi's smile. She reminds herself that it will be worth it in the end. What are twelve inches of hair compared to that smile? What are a few days of hiding in a ridiculously fancy castle if it means she can give Madi something that her and Bellamy could never afford on their own?

So Clarke braces herself and listens to Eliza explain the background of her own family and then the queen's. Surprisingly, both women are only children. Eliza was raised by her father after her mother died and both of the queen's parents passed many years ago. Their immediate family trees are simple and it doesn't take long to memorize the names. By the time Clarke's hair resembles Eliza's sleek bob, Raven has begun to explain the fine details of the Arkadian accent. She says it most closely resembles an Australian one since the island nation is off the outback's southern coast.

"You have an American accent though?" Clarke frowns as she ducks behind a screen to swap clothes with Eliza.

"My parents immigrated when I was young."

"And you just learned the accent for fun?"

Raven chuckles, "It pays to blend in sometimes."

Clarke makes a noise of agreement while she finishes zipping up the caramel-colored jumpsuit. She dons the black blazer last and steps out at the same time that Eliza does. The two women look at each other, eyes wide. Eliza's hair sticks out from under the Cubs hat and Clarke's magenta shirt and dark wash jeans seem to fit her snuggly enough. Clarke swallows down the strange discomfort of seeing the identical woman wearing her own clothes.

She blinks and shakes her head, "This is fucking weird. Pardon my french, but someone had to say it."

Eliza grins, "Totally weird and brilliant."

"Shoes," Raven points at them.

Clarke glances down and lets out a loud snort. Her white Converse look ridiculous, poking out from under the hem of her silk jumpsuit. She kicks off the shoes and holds Raven's shoulder as she steps into Eliza's tall pointed black heels. "Good lord, how do you walk?"

"Painful, no? These things are divine though." Eliza wiggles her toes from inside the Converse as she finishes lacing the shoes up.
They spend the next few hours reviewing any necessary information. Clarke tries to give a brief overview of her life: being raised by a single mom, meeting Bellamy in high school, her first girlfriend Naya, going to culinary school, opening her own shop, Finn. It's strangely cathartic to whittle down her life into important moments and when she is finished, she attempts to do the same for Bellamy's life as well as the history their friendship. Eliza talks briefly about her father and then the few interactions her and Queen Alexandra have had prior to their betrothal. She finishes by describing their last three months together.

"You don't sound particularly happy to be getting married," Clarke points out, then bites her cheek at her own bluntness. Eliza's face twists in surprise.

"It's just…" the duchess pauses, seeming to search for the right words. "I was never taught that marriage had much to do with happiness. It's a contract. An obligation and a duty—"

"Sounds pleasant."

"It's not that the queen is unpleasant," Eliza assures her. "She is just very formal."

"More formal than you? That's hard to believe."

Eliza shakes her head with a small smile, "Well, hopefully you won't have to interact—-"

A sharp rap against the door startles all three women. Eliza stands quickly, then looks down at herself in Clarke's casual attire. Her mouth opens and closes in panic before she calls tightly, "Who is it?"

Silence stretches out and then a low voice from the other side of the door answers, "Lexa."

"Who?" Clarke mouths at Raven as Eliza's eyes widen comically. The brunette glances between the two blondes and then pulls Clarke to her feet and towards the door.

"The queen," Raven murmurs softly in her ear.

Clarke's response is immediate and involuntary. Her body flashes hot, then cold and she pulls away from Raven, shaking her head. "Are you kidding me?" she hisses. "I'm not ready!"

"Just a moment," Eliza calls sharply as Raven twists to face Clarke.

"What do you think we should do? Have Liza open the door in your clothing? Tell the queen that she has developed a sudden fascination with American baseball?"

"Yeah, sounds perfect," Clarke whispers back.

"No," Raven insists. "You can do this. Now, remember what I told you. 'Ah' goes to 'eh' and 'oh' has a soft R sound at the end. Got it?"

"Wait!" Eliza spins Clarke around and shoves her large, diamond engagement ring onto Clarke's left hand.

Raven motions for Eliza to duck behind the far side of the bed, then strides to the door and opens it before Clarke can protest further. The baker's mouth hangs open and her heart beats out of her chest as she turns to face the entryway. Raven curtsies to the woman before her and then steps aside, one hand signaling that Clarke should do the same.

The blonde swallows and dips low, wobbling slightly on those black death-trap 'heels.' She rises and her eyes flick to the woman waiting in the hallway.

The queen is not at all what Clarke imagined. She looks impossibly young for having had sovereign power over a country for the better part of a decade. Alexandra must have barely been twenty when her parents died. Sympathy twists in Clarke's chest as she gazes at the young monarch, though the queen hardly seems pitiable. Her hair is immaculate, falling in long, honey-brown waves over one shoulder. And the queen's tailored, slate-gray suit somehow makes her seem both severe and feminine at the same time.

Clarke bites back a nervous laugh and clears her throat. Bowing her head again, she murmurs quietly, "Majesty."

"May I come in?"

Clarke nods, not trusting her own voice, and then shifts out of the way for the queen to enter. Her eyes catch on the bed as Eliza's pale head darts out of sight, concealing herself from her fiance.

The queen frowns, "Is everything alright?"

Clarke smiles and attempts the Arkadian accent, "Of course."

Raven rolls her eyes from behind the queen and Clarke tries to smile even as the monarch's brows furrow further. "Are you sure?"

Clarke coughs, putting one hand to her throat. "I actually have been feeling a bit under the weather. I might be getting a cold."

"Oh," Queen Alexandra's concern deepens. "Shall I call for the castle physician?"

"No, no! It's really nothing serious."

Eliza's head pokes over the bed to spy on them and Clarke narrows her eyes at the duchess. The pale head ducks out of sight again just before the queen turns, green eyes following Clarke's gaze.

"Is there something wrong with your bed?"

"No!" Clarke laughs and clasps her hands together nervously. "Why would you ask that?"

"It's just," the queen frowns and twists around again. "You keep staring at it."

"I have a lazy eye."

"What?"

"Not all the time! Only when I'm… fatigued," Clarke nods slowly.

"Oh. You never mentioned…"

"Yes, well it's not something that generally fosters sexual attraction."

Raven lets out a loud snort that turns quickly into a cough and the queen's eyebrows rise steadily.

Clarke rushes forward, "I mean, as my fiance it just never seemed like… well… anyways…" Warmth rushes into Clarke's cheeks as she blushes furiously. She's making a fucking mess of this. She tries to smile, "Did you come by for a specific reason, your majesty?"

"Lexa, please."

"Of course, excuse me. Lexa."

The corners of the queen's mouth twitch upwards and her hands slip into her pockets. "I simply wanted to ensure that you had everything you needed before I left for Spain."

"Quite."

"Good."

"Smashing."

Lexa's lips tilt up again as if she is fighting a smile. Clarke curses herself silently, trying not to blush. "Well," she gestures towards the door. "I wouldn't want to keep you from Spain."

The queen nods and follows Clarke towards the exit. If Lexa notices how Clarke's legs wobble in her heels, she doesn't mention it. The blonde uses the door for support and gives a short wave in farewell. What a disaster.

"Wait!" Clarke calls as Lexa turns to leave. "Were you driving through town earlier?"

"I—"

"Not you literally. You have a driver, of course."

Lexa tilts her head, amused. "Yes, I was."

"The black limousine with the green flags?"

"That is the only royal car," the queen chuckles softly.

Clarke's eyes narrow, but she smiles sweetly, "Do tell your driver to watch out for pedestrians and other road… hazards."

The queen frowns and opens her mouth as if to respond, but Clarke simply waves again and shuts the door, turning around to lean against it.

Raven looks at her skeptically, "Road hazards? Really?"

"Shut up." Clarke rolls her eyes and pushes away from the wall.

Eliza pops up from the other side of the bed, grinning. "You were smashing."

"Oh bite me, both of you."

"Honestly. You were brilliant. I can't thank you enough, Clarke."

The baker shrugs, "It's only for a few days, right? Your fiance will be gone. Easy peasy. No big deal."

"So we're doing this?" Raven glances between the two identical women. "Are you both ready?"

"Without a doubt," Eliza replies easily and turns to look at the other blonde.

Clarke raises her hands, "As ready as I'll ever be."

It takes another few minutes to have everything switched over. They exchange numbers, trade phone cases and Clarke finally gives Eliza her messenger bag with her sightseeing itinerary. The duchess slides on Clarke's navy jacket and wooly scarf until it feels like Clarke is simply staring in a mirror.

Eliza heads for the exit, turning at the last moment to say in a flawless American accent, "See you in a few days, your grace."

The woman winks before she slides through the doorway and off into the castle. Clarke's stomach somersaults. They really are going through with this. Clarke's never been much of an actress, but if all goes according to plan, that won't be a problem. Just think of it as a holiday, she tells herself. You're staying at a five star resort. That's all. She crosses her arms and glances over at Raven, before turning around the room in a circle. She takes a deep breath and clears her throat again. Fuck. What did she just get herself into?

A/N: Did you enjoy this chapter? What are you looking forward to most? Leave a review 3 I really love knowing what you think; it gives me fuel to write faster!