The Palace, Outside of Wembley, Polis - December 21st, 2018 - 9:00 CET

A firm knock rattles the door, causing both Clarke and Raven to look up from their half-eaten breakfast. Out of instinct rather than intention, Clarke begins to stand, but Raven shoots her an exasperated look, commanding her to 'sit' before stalking towards the entryway.

"Yes, your grace," Clarke simpers, letting the sarcasm roll off her tongue, and pretends not to see the middle-finger Raven flips her. The brunette cracks the door open and then sighs loudly.

"What do you want, Murphy?"

"Reyes," comes the stiff, biting voice. "Her majesty requests the duchess' presence in the portrait gallery at her earliest convenience."

"I'll be sure to inform her grace. Is that all?" A silence follows in which Clarke imagines the man to give a sharp nod of his head. But Raven seems to be the one with unfinished business, calling him back by name, "Murphy!"

"Reyes?"

"Wait a moment." Without hesitating for his response, Raven turns from the door and strides to where Clarke is sitting. "Are you finished?" she asks and when Clarke nods, the brunette lifts the dish-laden tray before walking back to the entryway. Her voice is dripping with delight as she hands the object through the door to the poor, waiting bastard and says, "For the kitchen. You're a doll, Murph."

Clarke stares at the woman as she tosses the door shut, cutting off the indignant response, and saunters back to her seat beside the blonde.

"Are you trying to get into a fight?"

"Oh, he loves it," Raven waves her hand.

"Really?"

"Yeah, he's into that whole domination thing."

"Have you two…?

"What? Oh no," the brunette shakes her head with a laugh. "Not that he hasn't tried. But it's too much fun to tease him. Keep him hanging, you know?"

Clarke snorts, "Can't say that I do, but I'll trust your word."

"You heard all that stuff about the queen, right?"

"Of course. You weren't exactly whispering."

"Best get a move on then."

Clarke lets out a long sigh and stands, running a hand over the green lace fabric of her dress. She normally would not be caught dead wearing something so frilly, but Eliza's wardrobe doesn't seem to include casual items like faded jeans or plain t-shirts. Plus, the jade fabric is nearly the same color as the queen's eyes… not that Clarke would ever admit that particular observation outloud. Clarke is slightly steadier in her nude heels than the previous day and it's enough to get her to the portrait gallery per Raven's instructions with minimal effort.

The long gallery stretches out before Clarke and at the far end she spies the lithe figure of the queen. Clarke takes a deep breath and walks down the sparkling, gold-leafed hall, trying to ignore the annoying click-clack of her heels against the polished floor. Lexa looks up at the heavy footfall, expression reserved. And Clarke cannot imagine that her own expression is any lighter given that the two haven't talked since their disastrous horseback ride the day before.

Clarke tucks a lock of pale hair behind her ear and tries to ignore how her heart starts beating faster at the sight of the queen. Lexa is dressed more casually than before — fitted black slacks with a loose beige top tucked in. Her sleeves are even rolled up and Clarke has to purposefully fix her gaze on something other than Lexa's arms. She turns and stares at the portrait on the wall; an older woman with salt and pepper hair and a severe brow stares back, a pendant gleaming on her chest.

"She's beautiful," Clarke nods at the artwork. "A little frightening, but beautiful."

Lexa follows her example, hands clasped behind her back to gaze up at the portrait. "It's my grandmother. And she was terrifying."

"Really?"

"Absolutely," Lexa snorts softly. "In a good way, though. She was a bit of a rebel."

"How so?"

"Strong-willed. Opinionated. Courageous. A bit like you, in fact."

Clarke blushes, "A woman ahead of her time then?"

"Hmm," Lexa hums in affirmation.

"Her necklace is stunning."

"It's the family crest. Ridiyo, Koma, Hodnes. Truth, Honor, and Love."

"Beautiful," Clarke murmurs, staring at the pendant. A small silence stretches between them until Clarke finally works herself up to ask, "You wanted to see me?"

Lexa nods, "Yes, I wanted to apologize for yesterday… I don't wish to make excuses for my behavior, but I hope I can help you understand. You see, I— I've been alone for many years." The queen's voice becomes hushed, like she's revealing a secret and a slight tremor enters it as she continues, "Even when my parents were alive, I was still alone most of the time. And I'm not used to… It will take time for me to adjust to the idea of having someone else around, someone else to share my burdens with. But I do want that… I want this."

Clarke twists to look at the queen and sees that Lexa's gaze is directed downwards, her hands now clasped in front, one rubbing at the other, almost like a tick. Something cinches around Clarke's chest at the sight. "I'm sorry too," she murmurs softly.

"What?" Lexa's green eyes snap up. "Eliza, you have nothing to be sorry for."

"I shouldn't have run away. It was childish and unproductive."

"But you were right. I was not giving you nearly enough credit. You—" Lexa takes a deep breath turning to face Clarke and folds the blonde's hands into her own. "You are going to be my wife and if you have an opinion on anything, I want to hear it." Lexa's thumb runs over Clarke's knuckles and the blonde swallows tightly as the queen continues, "I like that there is fire within you. Don't hide it. Never hide it from me."

"Okay," Clarke breathes out, not knowing what else to say in the face of such tender emotion. "Deal."

Lexa's lips tilt up at the simplicity of their resolution, drawing Clarke's hand to her mouth. And Clarke forgets how to breathe as Lexa's lips brush across her skin, sending a spike of heat straight through her. It's just attraction, she tells herself. Just simple attraction. It doesn't mean anything. But Clarke finds herself withdrawing from the queen, trying to put some distance between her heart and whatever is happening between them.

"If that's all?"

"That's all," Lexa nods, her face a regal mask once more. But when Clarke begins to dip into a curtsy, the motion cracks through the queen's shell once more and Lexa sighs, "Please, you don't have to do that."

"Alright," Clarke nods. "I'll see you at the ball then, Lexa."

"Eliza."

Clarke turns to leave and as she walks from the gallery, she shakes herself a little, hoping to dislodge whatever daze seems to sweep over her whenever the queen is around.

Town Square, Wembley, Polis - December 21st, 2018 - 11:00 CET

Eliza sets down her paintbrush and glances over at the two people beside her. Madi and Bellamy have their heads bent over their glass globes, hiding their ornaments from each other. The three of them are sitting at a crafting booth in the town square, the one they stumbled across after grabbing a bite to eat at the same delicious cafe as yesterday.

Now Eliza pinches her lips together, holding back her laughter, as she watches the ridiculously competitive father-daughter duo eye each other, trying to get a glimpse of the other's creation. A smile ripples across Eliza's face and she shakes her head in amusement before putting the last little dots of gold on her own ornament.

"Alright," she announces. "Reveal your masterpiece on three. Ready? One, two, three!"

Madi and Bellamy straighten, lifting their hand-painted ornaments into view. A hiccuping giggle leaves the nine-year-old as she stares at her dad's globe. "What is that supposed to be?"

"Wha— It's Olaf!"

"In summer?" the kid inquires smartly. "He looks like he's melting. And you forgot his eyes, dad!"

Bellamy looks down at his ornament and snorts, "Oops."

The three of them laugh and Madi proudly displays her Christmas tree, which is surprisingly good. "C'mon Clarke, let's see yours."

Eliza spins her ornament around to display the small globe with its pink, firework heart and gold flares.

"You're disqualified! Right, dad? It's not even Christmas themed!"

"Yes, it is," Eliza insists, smiling softly down at her little globe. She feels ridiculously proud of it, despite its sloppy appearance. She has never made anything before and even if the heart is a little lopsided, it's still her own. She turns to the pair beside her and says firmly, "Christmas should be about love."

Bellamy's dark brows lift at her words, "I'm not sure I've ever seen you so sentimental, Clarke."

Eliza rolls her eyes, "Don't make assumptions. You don't know everything about me—"

"Oh, I know you, Clarke. It's hard to 'un-know' someone after you've seen them puke up their guts."

"What?"

"Don't act like you don't remember New Years of 08. I don't think it's physically possible for your body to forget what it feels like to drink that many shots of tequila."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Eliza states loftily, but Bellamy just chuckles.

"What's te-kee-la?" Madi asks curiously.

"Ummm," Bellamy coughs and Eliza smiles gleefully at his discomfort.

"Yeah, Bell, what is tequila?"

He glares at Eliza and then turns to his daughter. "It's poison, Madi. If anyone ever offers you some, you just say politely 'no, thank you' and remember that tequila will te-kill-ya, okay?"

"But why would anyone drink poison?"

Bellamy grins wryly, "You'll have to ask Clarke that one."

Eliza snorts and shakes her head, before turning to the young girl. "Because I was very, very foolish."

Madi narrows her eyes as if she can tell that was an absolutely rubbish answer, but a sleigh passes by their stall, bells tinkling, and it pulls the girl's attention. "It's Santa! Can I?"

"Yeah, go ahead squirt," Bellamy nods and Madi bolts off to get in line with the other children.

"Poison, really?" Eliza arches her eyebrows at him.

"I'm not technically wrong."

"Well, of course not. Everything is lethal at a high enough quantity."

"And where did you learn that?"

"Biology 101 in undergrad."

He looks are her oddly, "They taught biology at culinary school?"

"Uh, no, of course not." Eliza clears her throat, "I— I just took some classes for fun… in my spare time."

"Spare time? Fun? I didn't think those words existed in your vocabulary."

Eliza holds his gaze, "Well, maybe you don't know me as well as you think."

A deep chuckle startles them both; the stall owner is shaking his head, apparently deeply amused by their bickering. He smiles as he hands them newspaper to wrap their dried ornaments. "It does me good to see two people so in love. And that kid of yours is pretty feisty. How long have you been married?"

Eliza opens her mouth, but no words come out. She looks at Bellamy and he seems equally stunned, brown eyes widened.

"Oh, no. No," he finally shakes his head with a laugh. "We're just friends. Madi is my daughter. Clarke's her godmother. Yeah, just friends."

Eliza nods along to what he's saying even as the merchant raises a dubious pair of eyebrows at them, "Really? You seem like a fine family to me."

"Thanks, but Clarke's not even my type."

Eliza's eyes snap to Bellamy, "What does that mean?"

"Wha—" Bellamy turns to her. "You know what I mean!"

"Do I?"

"Yes!"

"So you don't like blondes?"

"Clarke!"

"I'm just curious!" Eliza shrugs, noting his flustered appearance and reddening cheeks.

He splutters and throws his hands in the air, "I— You— What?!"

"Oh, calm down. Stop getting your panties in a twist. It's just a question. Not the apocalypse," Eliza drawls out as she hands the merchant money for their crafts. She looks at the vendor and smiles, "Thank you very much."

"My pleasure, miss."

Her smile widens. Miss. Just 'miss.' God, that's nice. "C'mon Bell," she calls to the visibly baffled man before walking in the direction of Santa Claus. When the two adults arrive, Madi has nearly made it to the front of the line. Bellamy and Eliza stand to the side with the other parents as the girl finally scampers up to sit on Santa's knee. Madi clasps her hands together in her lap, grinning.

"What would you like for Christmas young lady?" The practiced, deep voice of the man behind the suit rings out. Bellamy rolls his eyes slightly at the show and Eliza glares at him.

"Well," Madi thinks on it. "I'd like a new pair of ballet slippers—"

"Already under the tree," Bellamy leans down to murmur in Eliza's ear. She shivers as his breath ghosts across her skin, but with some effort she manages to keep her eyes fixed on Madi.

"—and peppermint bark—"

"That's easy," his breath flutters the small hairs at the back of Eliza's neck.

"—and maybe a pony—"

"How the hell are going to get a pony in Chicago?" His voice is less restrained, louder, and Eliza elbows him in the stomach, not wanting him to ruin Madi's moment with his dry commentary.

Madi seems to be finished, but then her face lights up and she adds, "Oh, and I'd like a new mom too."

Bellamy lets out a choked cough, face turning bright red. And Eliza can't help but tilt her head up to whisper in his ear, "Looks like you've got your work cut out for you, Blake."

"Shut up," the tall man mutters caustically but forces a weak smile onto his face when his daughter comes bounding down to greet them. He ruffles her brown locks as they meander through the square. "Some pretty tall orders for Santa, don't you think?"

"Nah," the kid shrugs. "I mean he's got enough magic to live in the Arctic, right? Finding you a woman and me a horse can't be too difficult."

"'Finding me a woman?' Where did you hear—"

"Octavia. She tells me that I've got to use my kid-charm and 'find you a woman' pretty much every time I'm over there—"

"Of course, she does."

"—so I figure if I ask Santa, then I won't have to do it. Not sure what kid-charm is anyways."

Eliza smiles, "I think that's part of it, kiddo."

"God help me," Bellamy mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks still flushed. But Madi seems oblivious to her dad's discomfort and keep prattling on about different things that Octavia has taught her until the trio comes to the performance stage. A group of elderly people are singing carols and the crowd has joined in, belting 'deck the halls' to the overcast sky. Madi sings along enthusiastically and the tension finally leaves Bellamy's face. Eliza nudges him in the shoulder and grins. He smiles back and they join in chorus, adding their loud and highly obnoxious baritone and alto to the mix. Eliza laughs at Bellamy's exaggerated drama, smiling so hard that her face begins to hurt and she can barely keep up with the song.

And it's then that she notices the lightness inside of her. As if the strain and stress of the past three months, the past twenty-seven years in fact, has been lifted. Because Eliza cannot remember the last time she felt this relaxed or had this much fun. Or was allowed to just be silly.

Her eyes fix brightly on Bellamy and Madi's faces as they sing back and forth to each other, unafraid to look ridiculous or sound terrible, just singing for the pure enjoyment of being with each other. They stay until the choral group disperses, until their eyes shine from tears of laughter and their bellies ache from it.

"That was amazing," Eliza breathes out as they leave, walking back towards the farmhouse. "I've never been to a sing-along before."

"I thought you went last year with Finn?"

"Finn?" the name sounds so familiar, but Eliza's pleasantly dazed mind cannot recall the specifics. Her heart starts to pound into her throat in the awkward silence that follows.

Bellamy frowns at her, "Yeah, Finn."

"You know, Finn, the guy who broke your heart," Madi leans into Eliza, nudging her.

"Right," Eliza shoots the kid a grateful glance. Now she remembers: Clarke's ex. "We did go, but this was much more fun."

"I don't think anyone has ever accused Finn of being too much fun."

"Yeah, he was a drag, wasn't he?"

Bellamy gapes at her, but Madi simply nods in agreement. "Totally," the kid pipes up and then skips ahead, kicking at a huge pile of powdery snow.

"Did you just call Finn — your precious, never-did-anything-wrong Finn — a drag?"

"Yep," Eliza turns around, walking backwards. "In fact, I think it's about time I got over Finn, don't you?"

"I mean if you're asking for my opinion than it's a whole-hearted 'hell yes.'"

"Good to know. And you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you feeling the holiday spirit? Ready for change? Bring in the New Year and all that jazz?"

Bellamy stares at her, considering. "I think so. I mean, it's been almost seven years since Gina died…" he pauses, "I've dated people, you know that. But not seriously… I just don't want to risk bringing someone into Madi's life that might just leave again."

"I get that," Eliza murmurs, heart clenching. Her hand instinctively rests over the silver wishbone necklace hidden beneath her coat — a reminder of her mother.

Bellamy swallows. "But I am ready, I think." The two of them have come to a stop without realizing it, facing each other on the pavement.

"That's good."

"Really?"

"Absolutely," Eliza holds his gaze. "You deserve that. You're worth that." She doesn't know exactly what compels her to say any of this. In fact, there is very little thought or planning going into her words at the moment. And for someone who has been trained to 'say the right thing,' this feels wholly different. Vulnerable. True. But she cannot say why.

Bellamy's mouth opens, but his words never take shape because at that very moment a large, cold something hits Eliza squarely in the back and she goes careening into his chest. His arms wrap around her, steadying her, and then another wet slap rings out and Eliza looks up to see his left shoulder covered in powdery white. A sharp laugh sounds from behind them and Eliza pushes off of Bellamy to spin around. Madi's pink face puckers in excitement as she throws another snowball. This time Eliza ducks and it hits Bellamy again.

"Hey!"

"Every man for himself," Eliza shouts over her shoulder and bends to scoop up the powder. She throws her ball at Madi and then twists out of the way right as a retaliatory, massive rocket of snow hurtles towards her from behind. Bellamy's face splits in a wide grin and he laughs as his quick, secondary throw breaks across Eliza's hip. She yelps and grabs more snow from the large pile blocking the pavement before throwing it back at him.

Madi runs by and sticks ice up Eliza's shirt to which the blonde lets out a bellowing shriek. "You fiend!" And then she's doing a mad dance trying to shake the frost from her clothes. Her preoccupation with removing the snow distracts her enough that Bellamy has time to sneak up and pelt her with a solid shot square to her chest. Eliza lets out a puff of air as she topples over from the impact, falling back on the pile of powder.

"Ouch, sorry!" Bellamy's rough, winded voice comes from above her. He blocks the bright gray sky overhead as he leans over, offering her a hand. Eliza takes his outstretched fingers with a smirk and gives a sharp tug that sends him crashing down on top of her. They both let out a large exhale from the impact and their heads thump together dully.

Bellamy's eyes find hers and she tries to catch her breath as she stares back into that infinite brown. He smiles down at her and for a moment everything seems to suspend - time, space, reality made obsolete by their shared breath. She watches crinkles form around his eyes and the warm light which refracts from their depths. Then Bellamy chuckles and rolls off, landing next to her in the powdery mound. And Eliza can feel the cold snow seeping through her jacket. But she ignores it. She glances over at Bellamy and grins back, pretending that time still hangs suspended between them.

The Palace, Outside of Wembley, Polis - December 21st 2018 - 19:00 CET

Crimson silk flutters around her ankles, the fine material a soft whisper against her skin as Clarke walks through the castle. Raven's steady footsteps are a comfort beside her, and she glances over again at the woman.

"I—"

"You're going to be fine," Raven assures her for the tenth time. "Just remember: the ball is a charity gala to raise money for the children's shelter in Wembley. It's called St. Andrews. Eliza chose it and helped plan the ball—"

"As if I could forget," Clarke grumbles.

"You'll be fine, I promise. All you have to do is smile and nod graciously whenever anyone mentions it." Clarke pauses, turning to look at the brunette and forcing her lips to stretch upwards. Raven laughs, "Exactly."

Clarke rolls her eyes skyward and then keeps walking. Her feet are fairly steady in the nude heels and while the improvement is only marginal, Clarke considers it a triumph. She reaches a hand down to pull the fabric of her dress from between her legs where it's attempting to cling and sighs. The sight of the dress almost gave her a stress-migraine earlier. Not because it was the overstuffed marshmallow-confection she had been expecting, but because it was the most beautiful gown she had ever seen. And because it probably costs more than one year's rent in Chicago. It's floor-length, delicate, and dramatic... everything Clarke is not. The sleeves are long and voluminous, cuffed at the end so that each subtle movement reveals the outline of her arm. And though the dress feels comfortable enough, Clarke has to remind herself every few steps to breathe.

When they reach the ballroom, Raven falls back and Clarke shoots her a withering look that is simultaneously petulant and desperate as if to say, 'really? you're gonna leave me to the wolves?' But Raven simply shakes her head and follows closely, catching the light in her silver sheath dress. The first flight of stairs leads to a landing perched above the dance floor and as Clarke halts at the top, she catches sight of the queen waiting on the platform below. Her back is to Clarke and from this angle, the low dip of Lexa's gown reveals an expanse of sprawling ink which crawls from the nape of the monarch's neck down her spine before disappearing into her dress. Clarke's eyes drag up the thinly-strapped, white silk. And she tries not to notice how the sheer fabric flows like liquid over Lexa's body. But it is nearly impossible to tear her eyes away and they linger too long on the sculpted planes of Lexa's bare arms. Clarke presses a hand to her diaphragm, once more reminding herself to breathe.

Another deep inhale steadies Clarke enough to pull her feet forward, starting her descent. But her mind spins like a hamster wheel, running with every stray thought that crosses it and coming away with nothing to show for the effort. Words seem like a distant concept as the distance between her and Lexa shrinks... because what does one say when you greet a queen for a ball? It's certainly not something Clarke has ever thought to consider. And she really has no plan, no strategy at all. Except the fervent prayer beating through her blood that she somehow not royally fuck this up.

Clarke is on the last step leading to the platform when Lexa finally turns around. And the blonde's heart skips a beat when those green eyes graze over her. Her pulse thumps wildly and she panics, any eloquent greeting quickly forgotten.

"Hi."

Lexa's honey-brown hair is draped over her left shoulder and it catches the light as she stares up at Clarke. "You look... beautiful."

The blonde swallows, "And you look..." Again words fail Clarke and she's left with just a one syllable utterance that is entirely lacking, "Wow."

A light cough sounds from behind them and Clarke looks back to see Raven inclining her head towards the dance floor. A single grand staircase now leads to the reception, but it's the crowd to which Raven draws her attention. A hush has fallen; one by one those below raise their glasses until a tinkling sound of metal against glass swells to greet the new arrivals.

"What are they doing?" Clarke whispers, stepping down to join Lexa. But it's Raven who supplies her with an answer.

"You've stopped under the mistletoe, your grace."

"Oh."

Lexa turns to Clarke, "Shall we give them what they want?"

"What they want?"

Lexa only smiles in response - a wicked smile that sends Clarke's heart racing once again as the queen leans forward. She doesn't touch Clarke or pull her closer, but simply tilts her head towards the blonde. And there's nothing hurried or forced in the movement. It's slow and luxurious - like Lexa's eyes which slide over Clarke's face, taking in every fractional change in the blonde's expression. Until there's nothing else except the jade green of Lexa's eyes and the sound of clinking glasses.

Clarke's breath stalls in her throat when Lexa's lips finally brush over hers, soft and featherlight. Air rushes into Clarke's lungs on a stilted inhale and then her hands fly up to cup Lexa's face, pulling the queen's mouth more fully against her own. And she can feel everything in that moment. The stillness when Lexa stiffens. Then blinding warmth as the queen melts beneath her. Clarke's body curves into the Lexa's and her head tilts sideways, giving more access.

Another, louder cough sounds from behind them and it's that noise which grounds Clarke back into reality. Her cheeks flush as she pulls away from Lexa, hands dropping to her side. How did she get so carried away? Shock paints the queen's face as she stares at Clarke, obviously taken aback by the blonde's enthusiasm. That makes two of us, Clarke thinks sarcastically.

"Well," Lexa clears her throat. "Shall we?"

Clarke takes her proffered arm and tries to quell the fluttering in her stomach as they descend to the dance floor. The tinkling turns into cheers and then into congratulations and wishes of happy holidays as they are surrounded. New faces swirl into focus before Clarke can manage to memorize the previous ones and her head begins to spin from the effort. Her hands grip Lexa's arm tightly, like a grounding rod or flagpole to tether her. And Clarke finds herself completely unsure of who in the crowd already knows Eliza and who does not, so she simply nods and smiles at everyone, hoping that response is sufficient.

At some point, a glass of champagne is pushed into Clarke's hand and she turns to see Raven's silver-clad figure disappear back into the crowd. Foreign secretaries, local nobles, socialites, and business moguls mingle as one and it feels like nearly an hour has passed before Lexa and Clarke are finally buffered against the crowd.

Finally, Clarke is able to take a proper look around. There are garlands of holly woven with red ribbon and wrapped around each marble pillar lining the room. Tiny lights suspend from the ceiling and, though they must be attached by strings, Clarke cannot see any and it creates the illusion of starlight.

"It's so beautiful," she murmurs.

The queen chuckles beside her, "Yes, you really outdid yourself tonight, Eliza."

Clarke bites her lips, blushing. Wonderful. Now, Lexa will think Eliza is both horny and vain. Good old sex-crazed, narcissistic Clarke Griffin. God.

Lexa leans over to murmur in Clarke's ear, "You know you can let go of my arm now."

"Oh," Clarke flushes, hands falling. "Right. Of course."

Lexa looks at her strangely.

"What?"

"I'm only joking."

"Well, you should really work on your delivery," Clarke whispers heatedly. But her annoyance is short-lived and fades under Lexa's warm smile as the queen pulls Clarke's hand back to her arm.

"Maybe later. Right now, I'd like to introduce you to the Prime Minister and our cabinet." Lexa leads Clarke over to a smaller group at the back of the room and nods in greeting, "Titus, Anya, Indra… I'd like to officially introduce my fiancé, Elizabeth Kane. Eliza these are a few of the people who help keep this country running. Titus is our PM." A wafer-thin man with intense eyes gives Clarke a shallow nod. "Anya is our Foreign Affairs Officer." A woman with an angular face shoots her a sardonic half-smile. "And Indra, my mentor and our Chief of Conflict-Resolution." A tall woman with dark skin and a stoic brow steps forward.

Clarke tries to imitate Eliza's sharp charm. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you all."

"Likewise," Indra returns cordially. "We've heard a lot."

"Really?"

"In fact," Anya arches a delicate eyebrow. "Her majesty was telling us earlier that you are interested in politics."

"Oh?" Clarke's gaze slides to Lexa. "I suppose I am."

The wafer-thin man - Titus - only smiles tightly, but Anya grins, clapping her hands, "Wonderful."

"I'm glad to hear you think so. It took a little more persuasion to convince the queen."

Anya laughs, "Yes, our queen is quite stubborn."

Lexa's eyes narrow, but she remains silent. Clarke feels her curiosity peak and she gives Lexa a slight squeeze as she asks, "What else can you tell me about my dear fiance?"

"Well," Anya lowers her voice. "There is a rumor that she might have narcolepsy. I believe that particular piece of gossip started almost two decades ago when she fell asleep during a cabinet meeting."

"I was there for that," Indra adds. "Her majesty snored the whole meeting and kept all of us, including her father, very amused."

"Really?"

"I was ten years old," Lexa scoffs.

Anya continues to goad the queen, "I swear I've caught her nodding off more than a few times since."

"Now that is certifiably false," Lexa insists and though her face is relaxed, Clarke can feel the tension in her arm. And it makes Clarke wonder how much of Lexa's cool exterior is a mask for deeper insecurities. The woman has spent ten years all alone in this enormous castle. Ten years. Does the queen even have any friends? Eliza never mentioned any. How could anyone stay so isolated and not begin to question themself in some way? Clarke lets her thumb graze over Lexa's bare skin.

"If her majesty did fall asleep, which I doubt," Clarke counters. "It was without question from the sheer exhaustion of spending so many countless hours working. Really, you are tireless."

Lexa glances at Clarke and the blonde smiles, hoping the queen can see her sincerity. The other individuals murmur their agreement. The sour man, Titus, finally speaks up.

"Our queen is the portrait of dedication. And this evening is a testament to that. I cannot tell your majesty how grateful I am that you've chosen to sponsor St. Andrews. That shelter has been a project of mine for many years."

Lexa shakes her head, "The praise goes to Eliza this time. Her efforts put this evening together and it was her choice to give the proceeds to St. Andrews."

"How wonderful," he turns his sharp gaze on Clarke and the blonde forces herself to hold it.

"I'm glad to hear you are a sponsor. I'm very interested in learning more about St. Andrews. Do you know roughly how many children live there?"

Titus stiffens visibly, "I'm not sure. I've never actually been to the shelter myself."

"Oh, I just wondered because I'd like to make sure that all the proceeds are distributed most effectively and since you—"

"Your grace," the prime minister interjects, expression disdainful. "I'm sure you have people who can obtain that information for you. An assistant perhaps, or someone else? This really is not a matter for us to discuss."

Clarke feels her anger flare and tries to tamp it down. This is the kind of wealth she is used to, the kind her mother has always warned her about. People who have so much that they only learn to care in theory rather than in practice. Clarke swallows her frustration behind a tight smile and finally manages to bite out, "Of course, Prime Minister."

Clarke barely listens to the rest of the conversation which carries on undeterred. She forces herself to wait another five minutes before excusing herself. She takes a circuit of the room, but Raven is nowhere to be seen and when she finally gives up on finding the one sane person in this whole damn palace, she snags a fresh glass of champagne and slips out onto the terrace.

The balcony is lit by several braziers, placed strategically to keep any adventuring guests warm. In the distance, tiny lights twinkle among the giant thuja and the rose bushes and their dance creates an intricate shadow-play against the horizon. Clarke moves to an unoccupied heater and places her back to it. This is her first real moment alone since she arrived in the castle, baring the few hours she's spent sleeping. And perhaps it's the space or time or room to breathe, but she suddenly feels painfully lonely. She wonders how Bellamy and Eliza are getting on and if Madi has been able to maintain the duchess' cover. The champagne leaves her glass faster than she supposes is appropriate for polite society, but Clarke doesn't really care.

Her arms cross against the frigid air and she distracts herself from the feelings clawing at her stomach by reciting the proper method for baking a genoise sponge, all the while watching the shadows and light dance around the garden. And because she's looking, her eyes catch on a flash of silver. Then the light illuminates a second, familiar head of brown hair as Raven and Murphy trail off into the gloom. Clarke snorts, shaking her head as she watches them disappear. They're probably as likely to fuck as they are to fight with each other. Clarke doesn't know which would be better for their mood.

"There you are. I've been looking for you."

Clarke spins around and breathes in sharply as Lexa strolls towards her, two glasses of champagne in hand. And the swift return of Clarke's earlier irritation is enough to assuage the raw feeling in her stomach. It's not Lexa's fault. Not really. But... she is part of this world. She is the queen of it. Still the soft eagerness on Lexa's face halts Clarke and she holds her tongue, taking the proffered flute instead.

Lexa raises her glass with a smile, "To us."

Clarke nods, biting her lip as their glasses clink together. She can't quite bring herself to say the words, to speak the lie. Because what is Clarke even doing here? Surely, this is madness. Not just for her to play this part, but for her to enjoy it. As if she might keep it. No, tonight had been a rude awakening. She would never belong in this world.

A new, foreign sensation twists her throat and Clarke washes it down with more champagne. But she cannot hold the queen's eyes. Not anymore, so she turns away and walks to the railing.

"Are you alright?" Lexa's voice is stiff with uncertainty and its ruffles the hair on Clarke's neck. The blonde glances over her shoulder to see that the queen has followed her footsteps. They stand only inches apart.

"No, I'm not," Clarke grimaces. "I— I…" But what can she say? She cannot speak about any of the dozens of things which are definitely not alright. So Clarke latches on to the one thing that she can, the simplest thought, the one closest to the surface — her irritation with the queen's world. "I hope I did not offend your prime minister."

Lexa steps back at the malice with which Clarke bites out the title. Then determination sets on her face and she steps even closer, placing a warm hand over Clarke's where it rests along the railing. "It's fine. I'm sure he took no offense."

Clarke laughs sharply, pulling away, "Then does he care so little? Do you care so little?"

"What? Eliza—"

Clarke's irritation flares and words begin to tumble from her mouth, "Your prime minister doesn't know anything about St. Andrews, a place he has supposedly sponsored for years."

"I—"

"No one here does!"

"You do," the queen steps forward again, refusing to let Clarke pull away from her. "You chose those children—"

"Of course, I did," Clarke fumes, past the point of flinching at the technicality of the lie. "But that's not the point! Everyone here is throwing their money at whatever you— whatever we tell them to, without ever stopping to question what it is for or how it will help! They feed into whatever 'high society' deems to be a noble cause, until the next, more trendy campaign comes along. Shouldn't there be some responsibility, some stewardship to having such wealth? Shouldn't there be understanding and research that goes into each donation? Don't you want to know who you are helping? And not simply do it because of the word of some socialite?"

Lexa looks at Clarke, brows furrowed but expression soft. Her hands are raised, frozen in midair like she might reach out to hold Clarke and the thought sends a lump into the blonde's throat. The queen concedes, "Of course. Eliza, you're right—"

"I just— Maybe I just shouldn't talk," Clarke sighs at the gentleness in Lexa's voice, so calm compared to the fire raging within her. "I only seem to say things that offend people."

Lexa's hands finally fall, sliding along Clarke's arms to pull her hands into her own. "You may say some... big things, but none of what you have said is untrue. And you say it because you care, which is the best quality about you. You care so deeply." Lexa runs her thumbs over the back of Clarke's knuckles and just that simple touch seems to release the tension from Clarke's muscles. "What if we went to the shelter tomorrow? Just the two of us. Get to know and understand what they need."

Clarke breathes in shakily, her eyes dragging from their intertwined hands to meet the queen's vivid gaze. "Really?"

"Yes."

"I'd love that," Clarke whispers, feeling that familiar warmth sting her eyes. "Thank you."

"And..." the queen steps closer. "Maybe, while we're alone, you can spend more time telling me about your ideas and I… I can spend more time listening."

Clarke swallows, "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"It's a great idea," Lexa squeezes her fingers lightly. "And speaking of them, we'll be expected to perform a dance shortly."

Clarke's heart drops into her stomach, "Oh no. I— I can't dance. I mean, I am a terrible dancer."

Lexa smirks, "It just takes practice."

"I don't think we have very much time for practice!"

"Then we'd better start," Lexa whispers into her ear, pulling Clarke closer. The queen's firm grip slides around Clarke's waist and her right hand is trapped within Lexa's left. Clarke laughs nervously, stumbling the first few steps. "Just look at me," the queen murmurs softly and Clarke eyes snap up to Lexa's. Her breath seems to expand in her lungs as she stares into that shadowed green, watching as Lexa's pupils bloom. Then Clarke's feet take on a different rhythm — Lexa's rhythm. And the gentle pressure at her back urges Clarke forward, closer, into the queen's space, until there is no air between them.

"I'm not sure this is proper dancing," Clarke admits in a hushed voice.

The queen smiles, "I'm not sure I care."

"You're supposed to be teaching me."

"And? Are you learning?"

"Yes," a ghost of a smile sweeps over Clarke's face and she rests her head against Lexa's shoulder. And it's only then, as she listens to the fast-beating heart of the queen, that Clarke realizes Lexa isn't wearing a jacket, or a shawl, or a scarf. Her arms are a golden glow under the brazier's light, her spine exposed to the frosty air.

"You must be freezing," Clarke says into the queen's collarbone as they sway lightly to the soft music from inside. And Clarke thinks she can feel Lexa's smile against her hair as the queen says quietly, "I've never felt less cold in my entire life."

Rental House, Wembley, Polis - December 21st 2018 - 22:00 CET

"And then what happened?"

Eliza groans, her face pinching as she remembers the aftermath of their snowball fight. "We were utterly soaked. After I caught him in the face, Bellamy held me down and unleashed the earth-shattering power of his daughter on me. I had snow everywhere, Clarke. My hands were so cold, I could've sworn I had frostbite. And Bellamy said we were going to have to amputate—"

"God, Bellamy can be so immature sometimes."

Eliza could hear Clarke laughing on the other end and she chuckled before admitting, "I actually found it rather endearing, really."

"You did?"

"Yeah," Eliza bites her lip, eyes rolling to the ceiling to restrain herself from gushing. "Yeah, it was really cute."

"Huh, well the Blakes are definitely puppy-like so 'cute' fits their description."

"Tomorrow we're going to ride horses near the St. Nicholas Chapel. And then—"

"Wait, what about the schedule? You were supposed to go see the Beaufort Fountain."

Eliza smirks, "Well we may or may not have torn the schedule into teeny tiny pieces and left it in a cafe."

"What?!"

"Actually it was just me, but Bellamy and Madi seemed happy enough—"

"Why would you throw away the schedule?"

A loud knock rattles the door. Eliza frowns and tells Clarke to hold on, before sliding her phone behind her back. "Yeah?" she calls out with a lower, longer accent.

The door opens and Eliza almost chokes on her own breath as Bellamy pokes his head through. His entire chest is bare - his sculpted brown skin stretches out, flat and taut, until it disappears beneath long flannel pants.

Eliza realizes her mouth is open and immediately snaps it shut. "Hmm?"

"Sorry," Bellamy smiles goofily. "I lost my toothpaste. Could I borrow yours?"

"Mmmhmm," Eliza nods, unable to find words.

Bellamy cocks his head, "So... where is it?"

"Oh," Eliza laughs and points her free hand at the vanity near the door.

"You feeling okay, Clarke?" He asks after picking up the tube. She must still be staring. Yep. She is definitely still staring.

"I'm great. Super great."

"You sure? Your face is a little red."

Eliza falters then begins to ramble awkwardly, "I think there might be a heating problem in the house. It's way too hot. Don't you think so? I mean, you…" she gestures at his bare skin and then feels her cheeks flush again. No one should look that good.

"Nah, I'm fine. I can turn it down if you want?"

"Probably for the best," Eliza nods, closing her eyes.

"Alright, goodnight Clarke."

"Night, Bell," she says, peeking again to catch the last glimpse of his bare back before the door swings shut. Oh bugger. Eliza breathes out slowly.

"Hello? You still there?"

"Yes, yes! I'm here! Sorry about that. You were saying?" But as Clarke begins to reprimand her again about the need for schedules and plans, Eliza can barely listen. Her eyes stay fixed on the door. Finally, her brain jumpstarts, "Have you ever seen Bellamy without his shirt on?"

"What?!" Clarke laughs through the phone. "No, of course not."

"And you guys aren't together? I mean you haven't ever…"

"Nope. He really hasn't had anyone serious in his life since Gina."

"I know," Eliza breathes out, heart twisting.

"Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I mean, I just— he was walking around and he looks— you know— good."

"Really? I mean, I could have guessed that. But… he's just Bellamy, you know? God, you should have seen Lexa tonight, Eliza. She looked like… like… something else. Just so beautiful."

Eliza arches her eyebrows at the comment, "How was the ball?"

"Good," Clarke's voice suddenly sounds higher than normal. A little squeaky. "Yeah, umm… well I… I kissed Lexa. I mean, she kissed me. I mean, there was mistletoe! And everyone was clinking their glasses and… well, everyone was clinking their glasses! We had to, you know? It was basically life or death—"

"Clarke," Eliza tries to stop the poor girl's tirade. "Clarke, it's okay. It's fine."

"Really?"

Eliza bites her lip and then nods even though Clarke cannot see her, "Yeah, I mean you had to, right? I get it."

"Right."

"Okay, then."

"Yeah, great."

"You don't…" Eliza swallows. "You don't need me to come back there, do you?"

"No, no! I mean… not unless you think I should go back?"

"No! No, not at all. Everything is fine here."

"Good."

Relief floods Eliza, "Great."

"Well, goodnight then."

"Night Clarke."

Eliza hangs up the phone and sighs. She falls back against the bed and stares up at the ceiling. When Clarke told her that she had kissed Lexa, Eliza felt nothing. That wasn't normal, right? She should feel something at least. Even if it's not jealousy. But all Eliza feels is the lingering warmth in her cheeks. And even though she tries to make her mind think about that kiss, to find some emotion there, her thoughts keep returning to the image of Bellamy leaning against her doorway. Eliza is fairly sure that image will be seared into her brain for the rest of her life.