A/N: Another crazy long chapter! This story is running away from me, haha. Enjoy!

Rental House, Wembley, Polis - December 19th 2018 - 20:30 CET

The car drops Eliza off at the address Clarke provided. Dusk has fallen on the drive over and now the duchess stands on the shadowed curb, staring at the small farmhouse before her. Lights twinkle along the porch, casting a honey-yellow glow which seems to beckon Eliza inside. Her stomach flutters sweetly and she closes her eyes for a moment to savor the feeling — the freedom.

Snow crunches beneath her Converse as she walks slowly along the driveway and up the stairs. Eliza pauses at the top, peering through the frosted window pane. And although she can only see his back from this angle, she recognizes Bellamy from the pictures Clarke showed her. He is contorted around a Christmas tree with a string of shimmering lights in his hand, weaving the flashing bulbs between the pine bows. Eliza swallows and steps forward, pushing through the door.

"We were wondering where you were," Bellamy throws over his shoulder without turning, too consumed by his task. Eliza stands in the entry, unsure of what to do. She glances around the space. The living room has a cozy feeling with its plush rug, overstuffed couch, and two enormous armchairs. Holiday music plays softly from some hidden stereo and the smell of gingerbread cookies fills the air. Something tightens inside Eliza's throat and she finds she has to swallow.

"Clarke?"

"Hmm?" Eliza drags her gaze back to the tree. Bellamy has turned around and he gives her a funny, inquisitive sort of look. Running a hand through his brown hair, he steps around the couch and walks towards her. A smile stretches his tan face, the kind of smile which sets creases around his dark eyes.

"Where've you been?"

"Oh," Eliza laughs with a shrug. "I got lost."

"In a small town like this?"

"Yeah, there were a lot of things to see," she nods her head, blue eyes following Bellamy as he comes to stand in front of her. "A lot."

"Really?"

"Mmmhmm," Eliza tries to hum in the same way she heard Clarke do earlier.

"Did you get an apron?"

"What?"

Bellamy chuckles and says again slowly, "An apron."

"Right!" Eliza bumps her forehead with her right hand. "I forgot."

"You forgot? You?"

"Well, I couldn't find one that fit."

"Clarke," Bellamy's expression grows more amused and dubious by the minute. "Aprons are one size fits all."

Oh bugger. Eliza opens her mouth and for a moment nothing comes out. Then, "Of course they are! I meant that I couldn't find one that fits my style, you know?"

Bellamy's brows furrow as he looks at her more closely. He steps forward and Eliza's breath hitches, freezing in her throat as one of his hands comes up to pull at the short hair framing her face. "Did you get a haircut?"

"Yep," she smiles, trying to ignore the incredulous tone of his voice. "Sure did!"

"Just like that? No planning?"

"Uh-huh."

"You haven't cut your hair in years."

Eliza swats his hand away, "I felt like a change, okay?"

Bellamy stares at her for a moment and then shakes his head with a snort, the disbelief falling from his face at her more acerbic tone. "Alright, whatever floats your boat."

Eliza breathes out a sigh of relief as he turns away. That was too close. "Where's Madi?" she asks as she steps away from the door.

"She's already aslee— Hey! What are you doing?"

Eliza freezes, "What?"

Bellamy's expression is one of mock outrage as he points at her feet. Her Converse are caked in snow and the ice has begun to melt on the wood floor. Eliza rolls her eyes at him and steps back onto the welcome mat to stomp off the powder.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, Griffin," Bellamy huffs imperiously, arms crossed. "You made that rule. Now you have to live by it."

"Such a tyrant," Eliza mutters as she continues to stomp her feet. She hasn't been scolded like that since she was in diapers. Honestly.

"I'm the tyrant? You sure do have a skewed sense of our friendship."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

"Excuse me?"

"Calm down, Bell," Eliza drawls, trying to nail Clarke's dry sarcasm. "You're going to rupture something if you keep freaking out."

"I'm— What— You—"

Eliza lets out a small laugh and heads for the stairs. "Night!" she calls over her shoulder and gets a small thrill of satisfaction that he still isn't able to form sentences by the time she reaches the top of the stairs. She hears an annoyed huff and then a gruffly muttered 'goodnight,' before she tiptoes down the hall and through the door Clarke described to her.

A smile tugs at Eliza's lips as she throws off her clothes and leaves them scattered around the room. She chuckles and crawls into bed completely naked, sighing contentedly into her pillow. Damn, it feels good to do whatever the hell she wants.

The Palace, Outside of Wembley, Polis - December 19th 2018 - 21:30 CET

"You're sure I can't get you anything else?"

Clarke looks up from the book she's reading. "I'm fine, Raven."

The brunette nods, but hesitates on her way to the door.

"Can I get you anything?" Clarke returns the question. "I mean, are you even okay with this?"

Raven crosses her arms, looking shrewdly at Clarke. "Can I be honest with you?"

"Of course."

"I'm fucking thrilled."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Raven breathes out. "Eliza wasn't born for this lifestyle. And if she gets even an ounce of fresh air from this experience, it'll be worth it."

"You say that like money is a burden."

"It is and it isn't," the brunette shrugs. "Eliza wanted to take hip-hop lessons when we were kids, but they made her do ballet. She wanted to study literature at university, but it had to be international relations. She doesn't have a political bone in her body, but she's been raised to feel like she's failing just for not being calculating or cut-throat. She is allowed to fund projects, but not be a part of them. She may be privileged as fuck, but she's never been able to do what she wants."

Clarke nods. She thinks she understands even if it's hard to fully empathize. She grew up with very little and a mother who liked to spend even less. Abby had always been a strict but loving parent and Clarke is grateful for that. Still… she can think of a few times when her life would have been easier with more resources.

"You sound protective of her?"

Raven smirks, "She's my best friend."

"But you work for her?"

"Doesn't your friend… What was his name? Bellamy? Doesn't he work for you?"

"Touché," Clarke smirks. "Though we work with each other. He owns part of the bakery in Chicago."

"That's nice for you. But try being best friends with a duchess. Her time is limited. If I'm her 'personal assistant,' the timing becomes irrelevant. Plus, it gives me the freedom and resources to tinker with all my gadgets and gizmos."

"So you're fine that I'm taking her place for a few days?"

"Let me put it this way," Raven tilts her head to the side. "I'd do anything for Liza, so for the next few days, I'll do anything for you. Yeah?"

"Sounds like a deal," Clarke smiles at the brunette and Raven gives her a wink, before making her exit.

Clarke stretches her arms overhead, groaning as her back pops. The room suddenly feels massive now that it's just her. Alone. She glances around and pulls the rose-pink silk of her robe closed, tying it shut over the matching nightgown. It feels strange to be wearing something so fancy to bed, but the soft material whispers over her skin in a seductive, sinful kind of way, and if Clarke is honest, she enjoys it.

She leaves the divan, stretching her legs and taking a cursory circuit of the room. Her eyes slide to the door as if to make sure she is really alone and then a giddy, child-like grin spreads over her face. Her bare feet pad across the brocaded carpet to the bathroom, which she didn't get to fully appreciate on her first visit. The entire room appears to be hewn from marble — at the center is a large, circular pool with numerous bronze knobs along its perimeter. Clarke turns one and the koi fish statue on the far side of the tub gushes water from its open mouth. A loud snort leaves Clarke and she shakes her head, turning the tap off before continuing to explore. She passes a vanity with an indecent amount of perfume and walks through an archway into yet another room.

Clarke's eyes widen as her gaze slides over the massive closet before her. The word 'closet' doesn't even do it justice. Eliza basically has a master suite for her clothes. The three walls facing Clarke are lined with suits, blouses, dresses, and gowns — more clothes than one person could hope to wear in a lifetime. And in the center of the room stands a large bronze hat tree, sculpted to look like an actual tree. Clarke picks up a blue and cream colored hat with a large bow. Placing it on her head, she spins to look at herself in the floor-length mirror.

"Hello darling," she murmurs, exaggerating the Arkadian accent and batting her eyelashes coyly. Her face splits into a grin as she bursts out laughing. "What the actual fuck?" Clarke murmurs to herself as she looks around at the treasure trove. How could anyone get bored of this? But before she can come up with a reasonable answer, a muffled noise catches Clarke's ears. She frowns, listening. Another soft thud follows. That's odd.

Clarke retraces her steps to the bedroom, "Raven?"

The sound rings out again, louder this time, and Clarke realizes that someone is knocking on her door. On Eliza's door. Right. Clarke squares her shoulders. She can do this. It's probably just a maid. Or Raven. Or—

Lexa twists around when Clarke throws open the door. The queen is clearly in the process of leaving, having come to the conclusion that no one was really there.

"Oh," Clarke breathes out. "Hello."

Lexa inclines her head in greeting, then falters, freezing. Her mouth parts, green eyes widening as they rake over the blonde. Clarke looks down, but everything is covered. She's wearing a floor-length nightgown and robe for crying out loud.

"I'm sorry," Lexa shakes her head. "If this is a bad time—"

"Why would it be a bad time?"

"I— Uh— Well," the queen clears her throat, shifting her weight. Clarke bites back a smile as she realizes Lexa is flustered. The blonde raises her eyebrows at the monarch and slides one hand up, along the open door to lean against it. Lexa's gaze follows her movement, mouth still frozen open.

Clarke tilts her head, "Yes?"

"I just… You're wearing a hat?"

"What?" Clarke straightens, reaching a hand up. Her fingers brush against the brim of the blue-cream hat still sitting atop her head. Oh, sweet Jesus. "Yeah… I mean, yes. I am," Clarke nods sharply, meeting Lexa's inquisitive, amused gaze. "It's actually… a tradition. In Arkadia, that is. You have to wear a hat when drinking tea."

"Even in your nightgown?"

"Of course. No exceptions. We may be a small country, but we are fastidious."

Lexa's lips pinch together as she nods, but Clarke can tell from the tilt to her mouth that the queen is trying not to smile. And the blonde feels the sudden urge to tease the stuffy monarch.

"You don't believe me?" Clarke demands, crossing her arms as if she is unreasonably annoyed. She feels a triumphant thrill as Lexa begins to backpedal verbally.

"Of course, I believe you," the queen's eyes dart down to where Clarke's arms brace her chest, before tearing sharply back to her face. Lexa flushes, but her voice remains smooth and light as she continues, "In fact, I would love to join you for tea."

"Oh," Clarke fumbles, biting her lip. "Well, I don't actually have any yet… Raven said she would bring some." The queen opens her mouth to respond, but Clarke rambles on quickly, fearful that Lexa will offer to wait with her and then discover her bald-faced lie. "Did you come to my room for any particular reason? Other than my fine company, of course. And the potential for an impromptu tea ceremony."

Lexa smiles at the blonde's wry humor and it's the first time Clarke has noticed a true smile sweep across the queen's face. Not an upward, half tilt of her lips. But an honest, albeit soft grin. Lexa steps forward slightly, lowering her voice even though they are completely alone. "I just wanted to apologize properly… for having to leave. And so close to our wedding. It's unfair and I'm sorry. If it wasn't so important, I would reschedule."

"I understand. Schedules are important. Our lives would fall apart without them."

Lexa exhales and this time her smile is wider and one of relief, "I completely agree."

"You know what they say," Clarke leans forward conspiratorially, lowering her voice as Lexa had done. "A goal without a plan—

"—is only a wish. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. The—"

"The Little Prince! It's one of my favorites."

"Mine too," Lexa admits.

Clarke smiles and rests her head against the door. The queen looks down at her, eyes flicking across Clarke's face. And it's only then that Clarke becomes aware of their proximity. How they stand mere inches apart as if their bodies have slowly gravitated towards one another. Lexa leans forward fractionally and Clarke's heart rate spikes.

"Safe travels, then," Clarke offers quickly.

Lexa straightens, "Thank you for understanding, Eliza."

Clarke blinks. "Right. Of course. It's no problem." She bobs a quick curtsy, her toes like ice cubes against the floor, and murmurs goodnight before slipping back through the doorway. She lets out long sigh when the door latches shut. The clock on the nightstand reads 10:15pm. One day down. Four more to go. And then the baking competition.

Clarke groans when she finally crawls beneath the down comforter, sinking into the bed like it's made of marshmallow. And though she closes her eyes, it takes nearly an hour before Clarke's busy-mind and fast-beating heart slow enough for her to finally drift to sleep.

Rental House, Wembley, Polis - December 20th 2018 - 8:30 CET

"Eggs, pancakes, bacon… shut up!" Eliza hisses at the beeping white circle on the kitchen wall. "What do you want? Huh? I'm doing my best."

She waves a cloth mitt at the very crispy bacon as it comes out of the oven. It's slightly charred. A little over done, but the kid won't notice, right? Eliza clenches her fists in frustration as the loud percussive beeping continues. With an indignant cry she pulls the thing off the wall, fumbling with the back for a while before banging it against her knee. A small plastic square falls off and then two little silver cylinders. With the infernal device conquered, Eliza spins back around… and freezes. A small girl sits on the far side of the kitchen island, looking at Eliza as if she has grown two heads.

"Good morning!" Eliza practically sings, her triumphant smile widening despite the child's expression of horror. "Breakfast is ready."

Madi looks down at her plate of blackened food and then back at Eliza. "Are you feeling okay, Clarke? You never burn anything."

"I'm grand— I mean, super. I'm super!" Eliza calls over her shoulder as she chucks the white circle into the bin.

"Why are you throwing away the smoke detector?"

"What, this?" Eliza laughs. So that is what the nasty thing does. "Who needs one of these anyways, right?"

"Sure, Clarke."

"Eat up."

"Seriously?" Madi pinches a piece of bacon between her fingers and watches as it turns to ash.

"At least try the pancakes. They're golden. On one side."

"Clarke," Madi whines, her face screwing up.

"Come on. It's not that bad." Eliza rips off a piece of pancake from Madi's plate and stuffs it into her mouth. She chews the food and nods encouragingly at the kid. Then the acrid taste of scorched sugar fills her mouth and Eliza grimaces even as she swallows the bite. "Okay, you're right. It's disgusting. Why don't we go out to eat?"

"Anything, but this." Madi agrees fervently.

"Ha ha. Just grab your stuff, kiddo."

Madi gives her an odd look.

"What?"

"Since when do you call me 'kiddo'?"

Eliza pauses. Shit. "Since now. Got a problem with it?"

"Not really—"

"Good, then let's go! Aren't you hungry?"

Madi gives her another odd glance and then she hops off the bar stool to go put on her shoes. Eliza breathes a sigh of relief and throws her wallet into Clarke's messenger bag, before pulling on her coat.

"Ready!" Madi announces loudly.

"Great," Eliza slings the bag over her shoulders. "Where's my scarf? Oh, there it is."

"Your phone's ringing!"

Sure enough, a buzzing sound emanates from the couch where Eliza drank her burnt coffee earlier. "Grab it for me, will you?" she calls from the front door while pulling on the same white Converse from yesterday. The vibrating continues and Eliza looks up from tying her shoelaces, frowning.

Madi stands next to the sofa, iPhone held between her small hands and a strange expression on her face. She looks up at Eliza with sharp brown eyes — too sharp for a nine year old — and asks slowly, "Clarke, why does it say you're calling yourself?"

Eliza opens her mouth, standing. Madi raises the phone and Eliza can see the name Clarke Griffin flashing on the illuminated screen. Eliza's brain flatlines for a second and then kicks into gear.

"I can explain," she holds up her hands as if Madi might jump her at any moment. The kid's expression has turned almost feral. And those three words - I can explain - solidify the certainty on Madi's face. Because in her haste, Eliza slips up — her words pitch higher and they lack Clarke's distinct American accent.

Madi's eyes narrow, "You're not Clarke."

The Palace, Outside of Wembley, Polis - December 20th 2018 - 9:00 CET

Clarke sighs and tucks her phone into her nude clutch. Her footsteps are slow and cautious as she makes her way downstairs to the dining room for breakfast. Even though she is wearing Eliza's shortest pair of heels, Clarke holds the banister for support, her movement restricted by the plum-colored sheath dress clinging to her frame.

"One step at a time," she whispers to herself encouragingly as she leaves the relative safety of the banister behind. Raven's directions are clear enough and Clarke finds the breakfast room in the west wing after only four wrong turns and one run-in with a startled palace employee. She sits down at the abnormally large mahogany table and tries not to think about how weird it is to be eating all alone in a castle that probably houses over a hundred.

"Your grace?"

Clarke looks up from her muesli. A tall man stands in the doorway, his burly visage tempered in part by his sleek black suit. She assumes this man is Gustus — the queen's right-hand. Clarke hopes she's right. "Yes?"

"Is now a fine time to discuss the wedding menu?"

"The menu?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I don't see why not," Clarke smiles weakly, unable to think of some excuse.

The man strides into the room, coming to stand across from her. He glances down at the clipboard in his hands. "Chef has sourced the halibut you requested and thinks an almond crust would be excellent. He only needs to know which of your relatives has the nut allergy so that we can mark them down for the alternative option."

"My relative?"

"Yes, your grace," Gustus prompts, expectantly.

"Of course," Clarke nods, her lips pinching into a thin line. She doesn't remember much of Eliza's extended family. Hopefully, neither will the queen's assistant. "I believe it was my great uncle Percy. On my mother's side."

Gustus opens his mouth to respond, but before he can another voice reverberates through the room, "Didn't he die five years ago?"

Clarke twists in her chair and Gustus bows as the queen walks through the open door. Fuck. What is she doing here? "Yes, he did indeed." Clarke clears her throat, turning back to Gustus. "There won't be any issue with the almond crusted halibut then."

"Your grace. Majesty," he inclines his head and moves away as Lexa strides up. The queen leans down, pressing her lips against Clarke's cheek. The kiss only lasts a moment, but the blonde thinks she can actually feel the blood rushing to her face at the contact.

"What are you doing here?"

Lexa takes the seat beside Clarke, facing her. "I thought you would be happy to see me."

"I am! Of course, I am. I just…" Clarke stirs her muesli. "I thought you left for Spain last night."

"I had the good sense to turn around before I made it to the airport," Lexa states simply. And Clarke's eyes snap up as the queen places a hand over her own on the table. "I realized that I have a habit of prioritizing work over my relationships and… and I'd like that to change. So, here I am. I want to spend as much time together as possible over the next few days."

"Oh," Clarke's eyes meet Lexa's and her breath stalls in her throat. This is definitely not part of the plan. "How lovely."

"In fact, I'm happy I caught you for breakfast. We should discuss the charity ball tomorrow—"

"Oh no! I just finished eating," Clarke insists, standing. A firm fluttering panic grows in her stomach the longer she looks at the queen. She needs to call Eliza. This is not going to work. How can she keep this up for four whole days, convincing the queen she is someone else?

Lexa rises with Clarke and for a moment they stand barely an inch apart. Too close. Clarke steps away from the table with a nervous laugh. She throws together a haphazard curtsy as she backs away.

"I'll see you in an hour then?" Lexa calls after her. "At the stables."

"The stables?"

"I thought you would enjoy a morning ride."

Clarke blanches, "Do we have to?"

"No," Lexa frowns slightly. "I just thought— you said you liked our rides the best."

"I did?" Clarke squeaks out, then clears her throat. "I did. Of course. How silly of me to forget. An hour then?"

Clarke has to squeeze her hands together to keep from running out of the room until the queen has responded and the proper etiquette has been observed. Then Clarke hurries into the hall, cursing under her breath. She almost runs into Gustus in her haste and quickly excuses herself before heading towards her room. After about ten feet, Clarke realizes she is going the wrong way and circles around. Gustus raises his eyebrows at her, but Clarke just simpers prettily and keeps walking. The imposter-duchess is well out of ear shot when the queen's assistant hails another man in a dark suit.

"Murphy," Gustus stares after the retreating blonde. "Does the duchess seem…"

"Different, sir?"

"Hmm, yes. Different. Keep an eye on her, will you?"

"Sir." The man named Murphy nods and clasps his hands together behind his back. He takes up a slow pace, trailing after the duchess at a distance.

Oblivious, Clarke walks as quickly as her heel-clad feet will allow. Her fingers punch Eliza's name into her phone while a list of muttered profanities stream from her lips. She listens to the dull ringing in her ear, waiting, but the call goes to voicemail. "Shit," Clarke spins, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"May I be of service, your grace?"

The blonde lowers her hand and stares at the wiry man before her. He is not particularly tall, nor his hair particularly dark. But his features are strangely angular and he has a visible intensity about him. Clarke smiles tightly, raising her voice and lilting it in the Arkadian way, "Please, excuse me…"

"Murphy, ma'am."

"Murphy. Please, excuse me. I'm not usually so crass, but my phone seems to be acting up."

"Would you like to use mine, ma'am?"

Clarke's eyes widen as she takes in his proffered mobile and devilish smirk. "No, thank you. I wouldn't want to impose."

"It's no imposition, your grace."

"I really can't—"

"I insist."

Clarke opens her mouth, ready to refuse again. But she doesn't have to because at the same moment, Raven rounds the corner and her eyes narrow onto them.

"Causing trouble as usual, I see," the brunette drawls, sliding up to the pair with a basket balanced on her hip. For about a breath, Clarke thinks Raven is speaking to her, but then the woman levels her sharp gaze on Murphy. The man straightens, pocketing his phone, as she adds, "How original."

Murphy smiles, holding Raven's gaze, "Her grace was having trouble placing a call and I was simply close-by. I am attempting to be useful, Reyes."

"The key word is attempting, Murphy. Maybe work on succeeding next time."

"Happily."

Raven raises her eyebrows, "So easily swayed?"

"Only for you."

"Really, Murphy." Raven shakes her head with a snort. "Now that you've had your fun, run along. Her grace is perfectly capable of making her own calls."

Murphy's eyes slide to Clarke, "Only if you are quite sure, your grace. I do so want to be helpful."

"Helpful?" Raven glares before Clarke can respond. The fiery brunette shoves her basket into Murphy's arms. "Here. Take this to the laundry. It's that way. And try not to get lost."

Clarke's face flames as Raven drags her down the hallway, "It that my laundry— I mean, Eliza's?"

"No," Raven chuckles darkly. "It's mine. And don't worry, we have a standing agreement. Murphy does my wash every Wednesday. He forgets, of course. But I always find a way to remind him."

Clarke twists her head around and catches a glimpse of Murphy's enraged face before she and Raven round the corner and slip from view.

Town Square, Wembley, Polis - December 20th 2018 - 10:30 CET

The phone screen lights up with Clarke's name for a third time and Eliza glances over at Madi before answering it, "Hello?"

"Eliza?"

"Who else were you expecting?"

"Well, you haven't been answering my calls. Excuse me for wondering if you'd been kidnapped," Clarke's sour tone is clear enough on the other end.

"Sorry," Eliza sighs, her eyes meeting Madi's across their cafe table. "I've not been kidnapped, exactly. But I do have a situation here."

"What—"

Eliza hands the iPhone across the table, "You better explain this one."

"Hey there, princess," Madi says into the device, then pauses as the woman on the other end responds. The kid laughs, "Duh! You guys are nothing alike. Eliza made charcoal this morning instead of bacon. I just put two and two together." Eliza glowers at the amused look Madi throws her, listening again to whatever Clarke is saying. The kid's mouth falls open, "Are you joking? Of course, I'm okay with this! Eliza told me everything. About the scholarship and how I'll be able to do the summer program. It's so cool!" The two talk for a few minutes longer, before Madi hands the phone back to Eliza with a twinkle in her eyes, "For you."

"Clarke?"

"Eliza?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"Good," the relief in Clarke's voice is tangible. "Look, everything is fine on your end. Madi won't be a problem, but you need to get back here now. Lexa didn't leave—"

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah," Clarke's voice is three octaves higher than normal. "She came back and wants to spend as much time with me— I mean, you, as possible. She said something about a ball tomorrow. I can't go to a ball. I can't dance. You didn't tell me any of this—"

"Clarke, calm down. Take a breath." Eliza breathes in and out loudly by example, giving Madi a reassuring look when the girl tries to reach for the phone.

"Don't tell me to breathe! I'm supposed to be riding in an hour. I've never ridden a horse in my life. I haven't even seen one outside of a hallmark movie!"

Eliza forces herself not to laugh, "It's not that difficult, I promise."

"Not that difficult? NOT THAT— I KNOW, RAVEN! Look, just come back here, okay? We'll figure something out. I'll still help you, but just for today—"

"I can't, Clarke," Eliza's sighs. "With the preparations for the ball underway, there will be too many people around the castle for me to sneak back in. You're going to have to do this on your own. I believe in you!"

"Great. You believe in me. I'm still going to fall on my ass like a—"

The door to the little cafe opens, sending a small chime tinkling merrily as Bellamy walks through. He catches sight of Eliza and Madi and waves, weaving his way towards them.

"I'm sorry, Clarke, but I really have to go! Good luck!" Eliza whispers hurriedly into the phone before ending the call and smiling at the approaching man.

"I got the saucepan and apron!" Bellamy announces as he settles into the empty chair. "I don't know how you couldn't find this stuff, Clarke. I walked into the first shop and BAM! There was tons of kitchen stuff."

"Bam?" Madi raises her eyebrows at her dad.

"It's a word. Look it up."

Eliza bites back her grin as she pilfers through the bag Bellamy set down, pretending to inspect his purchases. Satisfied with her show, she leans back and asks sweetly, "What would I do without you?"

"Finally! You recognize my talent."

"Don't be ridiculous," Eliza sips her coffee primly. "I've always recognized your talent."

Madi shakes her head subtly as if to say Clarke doesn't 'sip' things, but Bellamy seems oblivious. He scoffs, crossing his arms. "Really? So are you just deciding now to be more verbal about it?"

Eliza levels her gaze on him, "Yes, it's going to be part of my New Year's resolution." She smirks, pretending to check off a list. "Boost Bellamy's confidence. Tell him he's talented at least twice a day. Give big hugs. Be less grumpy."

Bellamy chortles, throwing his head back. "I don't think you'll manage that last one, Clarke. You're pretty much the Grinch."

"Hey!"

"What? Your words, not mine."

"I can be fun! I'm the funnest," Eliza insists heatedly.

"Really? When are you going to fit 'fun' into your tightly packed schedule?"

Eliza purses her lips, "What schedule?"

"Yeah, dad." Madi picks up her mug, copying Eliza by peering at him loftily over her mug of hot cocoa. "What schedule?"

Bellamy glances back and forth between the pair, before asking Eliza indignantly. "Clarke, what have you done to my child?"

"I gave her to the aliens. They seemed happy enough to take her."

"How could you?"

"She was complaining about my cooking," Eliza shrugs, throwing a wink at Madi. "Asking for too many cookies. Had to be done."

Bellamy breathes in sharply, "Without even consulting me?"

"I don't know what you're complaining about. This one is far better behaved."

"What about our plan, Clarke?"

"Eh, plans are overrated. I've decided to be spontaneous," Eliza smiles gleefully at the dumbstruck expression which sweeps over Bellamy's face.

"Excuse me? Are you sure the aliens didn't swap you?"

Madi chokes on her cocoa, coughing. Eliza's heart beats out of her chest, but Bellamy simply reaches a hand over to pat his daughter's back. Madi glances between the two before pushing her dad's hand away and saying, "It's true. Clarke promised, 'no more plans.'"

"Really?" Bellamy asks dubiously, folding his arms. "I'll believe that when I see it."

Eliza smiles smugly and reaches into her messenger bag. Bellamy's eyebrows rise slowly as she withdraws a folded piece of paper and holds it up for inspection. It's their sightseeing itinerary, the list of where they are supposed to be at every hour of every day until the competition. Without breaking eye contact with him, Eliza tears up the paper into fat, snowflake-sized pieces and scatters them onto the cafe table. She pretends to wipe her hands off before leaning back in her chair with a smirk. Madi grins from ear to ear, but Bellamy… Bellamy is in shock. And Eliza's bright gaze stays fixed on him, on his bewildered excitement, as she inquires casually, "So guys, what should we do?"

Stables, Outside of Wembley, Polis - December 20th, 2018 - 11:00 CET

Clarke wrinkles her nose as the distinct smell of hay and shit wafts towards her from the open double-wide stable doors. She rolls her shoulders in her padded equestrian jacket and tries not to notice how the brown knee-high boots pinch around her little toes.

"Saddle. Stirrup. Bridle. Reins," Clarke mutters to herself on repeat as she walks through the stable doors. Did she look up vocabulary for horseback riding? Yes. Yes, she did. But it's not because she wants to impress Lexa. It's not that at all. Clarke just hates being bad at things. One of the reasons she chose baking as a career was because it always came naturally to her. She was fucking amazing at it. She could bake a perfectly fluffy Joconde sponge. But animals? Not so much.

She'd had a goldfish once. It had lived for about a week before a couple of late nights in the shop during its first year killed the poor thing. It wasn't that she forgot to feed it. In fact, Clarke gave it plenty of food in advance. She just hadn't expected the poor thing to eat and eat and eat and eat until it exploded. Yeah, that had been a surprise. So when Finn had offered for them to buy a puppy together, Clarke had firmly refused, citing a natural disinterest. Which was only partially true.

"Bridle. Stirrup. Saddle. Reins," she mumbles once more before pushing through the wooden gate to the riding pavilion where the queen and stablehands wait.

Lexa turns slowly as if sensing Clarke's presence and the smile which softens her face is utterly devastating. Clarke's mouth goes dry as her eyes slide over Lexa, taking in the tightly fitted beige riding pants and hunter-green jacket which only serve to accentuate the queen's lean, athletic form. The woman looks delectable and it's all Clarke can do to remind herself that she is not in fact the queen's fiancé. She has to remind herself repeatedly and, even though she is mentally berating herself, Clarke's lips twist up in response to Lexa's smile. It's fucking impossible to stop it.

Still the smile falters from Clarke's lips when her gaze slides over to the two horses beside the queen. Her eyes bug out and that muscle in her chest begins to beat in quick succession at the sheer enormity of the beasts. One is a pale, dappled gray with a mane of shocking white and the other, which the queen's stands beside, is such a dark shade of umber that the steed appears almost black. Clarke forces the smile back onto her lips as she walks up to the clearly insane monarch. Who would ever voluntarily choose to ride these creatures?

"You look lovely, Eliza," Lexa's voice is low and husky as her gaze roves over the blonde. Clarke inclines her head as if to say, 'what's new?' and hopes the queen doesn't notice that it's because her voice has stopped working.

"Are all horses in Polis this large?" Clarke finally manages to croak out as she stares up at the white beast she is supposed to mount.

Lexa laughs lightly, "These two are only slightly larger than average."

"Really?" Clarke asks, glancing at the queen. "In Arkadia, they're much smaller. More like large ponies, really."

Lexa only smiles indulgently and Clarke curses herself. Why did she say that? Do they even have horses in Arkadia? Isn't it an island? Fuck.

"Shall we?" Lexa gestures Clarke to her mount and the fake duchess smiles weakly before walking slowly up to the horse.

"Stay still, okay?" Clarke whispers to the white mare as she reaches up to grasp the slick leather of the saddle. An entire mile seems to stretch between the ground and the stirrup, but with stubborn determination she fits her foot through the metal loop. Clarke hoists herself up, belly first, onto the horse. At least that is what she tries to do. Her momentum combined with the slippery leather sends her careening over the other side of her mount in a full summersault.

"Fuck me," Clarke hisses under her breath as she blinks up at the ceiling of the pavilion. That hurt. The roof is completely obscured from Clarke's view as the queen bends over her, face filled with concern. Lexa's brown braid swings over one shoulder as she glances down and her hands reach out to ghost along the blonde's body.

"Are you alright?"

Goosebumps erupt over Clarke's skin at the queen's touch and she clears her throat before answering, "Fine. I'm fine. Just a little… overzealous."

Lexa pulls Clarke to her feet and brushes the pavilion's sand off of her back. Clarke bites her lip as the queen's hands glide quickly over her ass. The woman seems to realize what she's doing at the same moment Clarke does because the queen's hands immediately fall to her side and her green eyes snap to Clarke's.

"I'm fine, really." Clarke assures her, blushing.

"Let me help you up."

"No, really, it's fine—"

"I insist."

Lexa guides Clarke to the other side once more, her hand resting on the small of the blonde's back. And Clarke resigns herself to the fact that she is going to have to get used to the queen touching her. She just needs to get a grip. Then she'll be fine. Just follow the plan. But her breath hitches as Lexa's strong hands grip her waist, lifting Clarke onto the leather saddle. And all thoughts or plans or purpose drift away under the growing warmth in Clarke's stomach.

"Thank you," she murmurs and closes her eyes briefly as the queen's hand slides off her thigh. The monarch mounts her own horse deftly, then urges the steed out of the pavilion. Clarke lifts the reins and tries to copy the video she watched earlier, laying the reins gently against the horse's neck to turn the animal. The mare starts and begins to walk quickly after Lexa's steed.

Clarke tries to calm her heart as they guide their mounts into the snowy pasture beyond. The day is overcast with bits of sunshine here and there, but the adrenaline keeps Clarke warm and she finds that if she can remain impassive, her mare is happy to follow Lexa's. Thankfully. They ride in a comfortable silence, listening to the sounds of nature and the crunch of snow beneath heavy hooves. Every so often, Lexa points out an interesting landmark to Clarke as they ride through frosted trees and powdery hilltops.

The sharp wind nips at Clarke's nose turning it red, but she doesn't mind. It's the most peaceful she has felt in years. All the busy city noises just a distant memory from atop a quiet, snowy hill. Lexa draws her mount to a halt as they reach one such pinnacle of land, the trees thinning enough to create a perfect vista. Far below, the town of Wembley rests in a basin, looking like a toy village from this height.

"It's beautiful," Clarke whispers softly, almost forgetting to use the Arkadian lilt in her rapture.

"It is," Lexa's voice is a quiet murmur next to her. "Absolutely stunning."

Clarke glances over at the queen and finds Lexa already looking at her. Blood rushes to Clarke's already flushed cheeks and she turns her gaze quickly back to the vista before them. "Do you come here often?"

"I do," the queen nods in her periphery. "Especially when I need to get away. The silence helps me think."

"About affairs of state?"

"Sometimes. Other times, the need arises of a more personal nature."

"Have you ever come here to think about me?" Clarke doesn't know why she asks this. Any answer will be irrelevant. It's Eliza, not Clarke that the queen will be considering. Still, when Lexa's head turns sharply at the question, Clarke cannot help but twist to meet the queen's gaze.

Lexa opens her mouth, eyes searching Clarke's. Her brows furrow at whatever she finds there. "More times than I can count," she finally admits.

Clarke smiles and turns back to the view, teasing. "And the affairs of state? Are they as much of a burden?"

A light chuckle rings out. "Infinitely more burdensome."

"You know, burdens aren't so bad… if you have someone to share them with."

"I suppose. Although I would not trouble you with mine."

"Wouldn't they be ours after the wedding?"

Lexa shakes her head, "You won't need to worry yourself about such things."

"Worry myself?"

"I just mean that you will be too busy planning galas and organizing dinners—"

"Polishing my tiara?" Clarke asks, her voice hardening at the queen's dismissive tone.

"What? No. But you'll have important duties like entertaining—"

"So a gala is more important than a foreign trade agreement or a peace summit?"

"Of course not," Lexa's sighs. "But you can hardly be interested by those discussions."

"Why not?" Clarke grips her reins tightly and turns her burning gaze on the queen. "Because I'm not clever enough? Because I'm too shallow to grasp the grand politics which weigh on your shoulders? If you think my only use is to plan a social function, then I confess I have no idea why you agreed to marry me in the first place."

"That's not what I—"

"It's getting cold. I think I'll head back," Clarke bites out, turning her steed back down the hill. She's not sure what has come over her, but the indignation which burns in her chest has enough heat to warm her to the bone. Whether the fiery emotion is on Eliza's behalf or spurred by some self-pity, Clarke cannot say. But the presumptuous way with which Lexa told Clarke what were 'acceptable' interests grated on her nerves. And Clarke has never been very good at keeping her mouth shut.

"Eliza!" Lexa's strong voice calls after her.

Clarke braces her shoulders, but doesn't turn around, urging her horse forward. And a small, bitter part of Clarke excuses this petty behavior because, after all, that is not her name.

A/N: This story is receiving more buzz on AO3 and I'm considering only updating on that platform since FFN is a little more difficult for me. If you're reading this story here and would like me to keep posting, just let me know. Thanks!