The Flame Patisserie, Wembley, Polis - December 25th 2019 - 8:45 CET
"Clarke, what are you doing?"
Bellamy leans against the doorway giving her a quizzical, highly intrigued look. The blonde baker freezes mid-action, wooden spoon held erect by the gelatinous cookie dough. She opens her mouth but only air comes out. Her best friend raises one eyebrow and then steps forward with a shake of his head.
"Ummm," she pauses looking around the workspace. "Just working on the Russian Tea Cookies. You know they have to soak overnight to get the best flavor and then I was going to maybe get a head start on one of the cakes—"
"Clarke," Bellamy cuts off her tirade with a hand on her shoulder. "You don't need to be working. Not today."
The blonde huffs, "But we open in two days and I want everything to be perfect—"
"The Flame has already been featured in the Wembley Review. There's plenty of 'good buzz,' right? Trust me, you're golden—"
"You don't understand. I'm basically doing this on my own. What if—"
"Is that really what's scaring you?"
Clarke's eyes snap to his, "What do you mean?"
He gives her a pointed look, "It's your wedding day and instead of getting ready for that, you're hiding in your new bakery."
Clarke blushes and tucks her hair behind her ears. It's longer now, having grown out over the past year, and the blonde locks just barely brush her collarbone. She ignores Bellamy's stare and turns back to the cookie dough, giving the viscus batter another rough sweep with the spoon.
"Clarke—"
"I'm not hiding," she snaps, throwing her best friend a scathing look. He returns it, arms crossed.
"I didn't fly all the way to Polis to not see you dolled up in a frilly white dress."
"Oh, shut up," she glowers at him, tempted to throw part of the batter in his face. But she doesn't particularly feel like having to remake it.
"Come on, Griffin. What's going on?"
The blonde shakes her head, chewing on her lip before turning to face her friend. "It's been… what, three months?... since I moved here permanently, and— and what if this is a mistake? What if Lexa realizes she's marrying a baker—"
"I'm pretty sure she's aware of that fact."
"—and changes her mind? Her cabinet thinks I'm just a stupid American bimbo—"
"They didn't say that, did they?"
"No… But they didn't have to! It's Titus. You should see the way he looks at me, Bell. Anya is great. And Indra… But Titus— Arhgh, he is a shriveled, sour prune of a person—" Bellamy lets out a loud snort to which Clarke cries, "It's not funny!"
He raises his hands, "Sorry. I'm sorry! But… shriveled, sour prune?"
"For your information, I'm trying to curse less," she says primly, leveling her lofty gaze on him.
"And how is that working for you?"
Clarke throws her head back and groans, "It's fucking terrible."
"Then don't marry her," he shrugs.
"What? Don't be ridiculous."
Bellamy just smirks and leans against the opposite counter. His amused eyes pin her until she finally sighs and flings her hands wide.
"I know what I'm doing, but… but does Lexa? It's been three months and what if I snore? What if I fart in my sleep and she—" Bellamy lets out a rough chuckle and Clarke pinches her lips, "Stop laughing! I'm serious."
"Oh, I can tell," he assures her, a smile still stretched across his face. Bellamy shakes his head and shifts forward, putting a hand on either of her shoulders. "The only person I've met who is more meticulous than you… is Lexa. I'm pretty sure she knows what she's doing. And… you do snore—" Clarke's eyes widen, but Bellamy continues quickly, "It's more of a 'heavy breathing' thing so I wouldn't worry about it. I can't say whether you fart, but, I mean, she likes you enough to marry you. Surely, that isn't a deal breaker? Unless… it's some sort of chronic illness where you hotbox the bed every night in which case you should probably steer clear of any spicy food for the foreseeable future—"
Clarke punches him in the chest and Bellamy winces, laughing. "God, Clarke take a joke."
"I said stop laughing."
He rolls his eyes, "Look, it's normal to be nervous, but you have nothing to worry about, okay? I promise. You may have only been living here for three months, but it's not like you guys didn't see each other during the other eight. You've been spending two weeks of every month in Polis. Plus, Lexa would have married you after only four days. You're the one who needed extra time."
Clarke frowns, "You really think so?"
"Definitely."
The blonde baker rubs her hands over her face and lets out a long sigh. She looks down at herself and then up at Bellamy with a helpless sort of expression.
"I'm such a mess."
He laughs, "Good thing your man of honor is so damn smart and knows to make sure you clean up in time."
"Your ego could break through this roof, Bellamy Blake."
"It's only a smidge bigger than yours," he retorts with a goofy grin.
"Okay, okay," Clarke nods, glancing once more around the prep room. "Okay, I'm ready. Let's do this… Wait, where are Madi and Eliza?"
Bellamy jerks his head towards the front of shop, "Waiting in the car. I thought I should—"
A small, deliberate cough sounds from the doorway and the pair turn to see both Madi and Eliza's heads poking from the frame. Clarke's sister, her twin, wears a sheepish expression, but Madi appears entirely unapologetic for eavesdropping. The ten-year old's cheeks are still stained red from the cold air and her expression is jubilant. Bellamy shakes his head with a sigh.
"I can't take you two anywhere."
Madi sticks out her tongue and then looks at Clarke, "Any cookies?"
The blonde rolls her eyes and points towards a cookie tin under the far counter. The kid skips over as Eliza makes her way towards the pair of adults. Bellamy drags the duchess into his side and kisses her before pulling back to raise his eyebrows.
"We were…" Eliza clears her throat, "backup. Just in case, the perp got too… wily." She directs the last word at Clarke and then grins wickedly.
"Oh?" The baker replies.
"Madi's been in a cop phase," her twin shrugs. "Whenever she's not prancing around in her pointe shoes, she's arresting me or Bellamy for some ridiculous altercation. She even asked for a pair of handcuffs for Christmas."
Bellamy chuckles, "We already got some use out of them."
Clarke groans as Eliza's cheeks flush prettily, "I did not need to know that."
Her best friend just laughs harder and then glances down at his watch before informing them that it was time to go. Clarke has 'places' to be.
"Ready, squirt?" he calls to his daughter. Madi's muffled response draws the adults' attention and they find the kid in the midst of trying to simultaneously stuff two cookies into her mouth.
Eliza pretends to pull out a notepad, "I'm writing you up for a warning, miss. Sugar Overload is a serious offense."
Madi giggles sharply and then skips out of the shop, at least one more cookie poking out of her pocket. Eliza shifts away from Bellamy to slip her arms through Clarke's. She looks at her sister fondly and says in a hushed voice. "Ready?"
Clarke swallows, squeezing Eliza's hand, and then nods. Ready as she'll ever be.
The Palace, Outside of Wembley, Polis - December 25th 2019 - 11:00 CET
"I can't breathe. It's too tight. I can't breathe!" Words spill from Clarke's mouth as her hands press against her diaphragm. She paces back and forth, her vision only a narrow pinpoint ahead of her. Each jerky movement causes her to slip away from the surrounding people each time they reach forward to help.
"Honey, calm down. Everything's fine." Abby's voice is soothing, convincing. But the stays of Clarke's dress feel like they are pressing in on her.
Clarke shakes her head, "Did you see how many people are out there? It's like a million! A billion! I don't even know, I just—"
"Baby, take a breath," Abby tries again.
"Come on, Clarke." It's Eliza's voice this time.
The blonde baker just shakes her head, heart thumping wildly. "I mean, why are so many people here? God, I just—"
"Griffin! Stand still for one damn second," Raven's strong alto breaks through the panic and then the brunette's face swims into focus as she grabs ahold of Clarke's arms. "Hold still, okay?"
Clarke nods and then Raven's hands are pulling at the back of her dress. Air floods into her lungs.
"Better?"
"Yeah," Clarke breathes out. So much better. Abby steps forward now, giving Clarke a cautious look.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," Clarke assures her mother, despite the roiling motion of her stomach. It's fine. She'll be fine.
"Baby, if you don't want to do this, you don't have—"
Clarke grabs her mother's hand, "No. I want to do this."
Abby's eyes widen at the conviction in her daughter's voice and she nods, holding Clarke's hand softly.
"Are you ready then?"
Clarke looks up to find the room staring at her, waiting. Her mother is by her side. Raven and Eliza stand not far off. Madi is munching happily on some carrots by the window, a pink confection in her flower girl dress. Even Bellamy's sister, Octavia, has made it. Though of those present, she looks the least pleased about the crimson gowns Clarke has forced her bride's maids into. Abby wears a dark blue dress and Eliza stands alone in a dusky charcoal suit. When Lexa had asked Eliza to be a part of her wedding party, the gesture was so sweet that Clarke could hardly refuse.
"Are you ready?" Raven asks again, giving Clarke a pointed look that is meant to say 'you better be, because it's fucking time, Griffin.' The blonde lets out a short laugh and steps forward, her pale ivory train trailing behind her.
Eliza knocks on the door and it opens. A soft smile spreads across her face and then she slips through, switching places with a very ostentatious looking Bellamy. Clarke busts out laughing and some of the tension leaves her chest at the sound. His hair is slicked back and his tailored suit is the same crimson color as Raven and Octavia's dresses.
She grins, "God, it's worth it just to see you in that get-up."
"I wouldn't laugh too hard yet," he replies smugly. "You're going to be the one with all the photos."
"Don't listen to her. You look great in red," Raven drawls out.
Bellamy pauses, "I can't tell if your joking or being serious."
"That's part of my charm," the brunette replies with a smirk.
"Alright," Octavia's bored voice cuts the room. "Now that everyone is done flirting with each other, can we get this show on the road? I'm only here for the food and we've got at least two hours before lunch."
Clarke shoots Bellamy's sister an annoyed glare, but the petite firebrand just shrugs her shoulders as if to say, 'You invited me. What did you expect?' To which Clarke can really only shrug her shoulders back.
She turns to her mom, locking arms with Abby and says in a voice that is steadier than she feels, "Let's do this."
Bellamy holds Madi's hand and the two of them lead the way with Raven and Octavia close behind. Abby helps Clarke through the door and murmurs about how beautiful she looks as they walk down the hall. The blonde can only nod as her nerves ping-pong around in her abdomen.
It takes longer than Clarke expected for them to leave the castle and circle around to the back of the gardens. An enormous runner of forest green covers the powdery snow and keeps her feet or train from getting wet. She can hear the lilting sound of the orchestra through the pine and giant thuja as they draw closer and even though Clarke steps on thick fabric, she can hear the crunch of snow with each footfall. Her heart beats out of rhythm with the music, too fast for the soft melody. And the pounding only increases when Abby and Clarke round the corner, coming to a halt beside Marcus.
"Hi, dad," she manages to croak out as he grins down at her.
"You look lovely, Clarke," her father breathes out, eyes warm. He turns to Abby and though he doesn't say any words, Clarke can tell that something passes between them. She gives them a moment to be sappy and sweet and… parents, and instead looks straight ahead at the last stretch of green fabric which forms an aisle through the gardens and to the terrace above. A small figure dots the white stone platform. It's Lexa. Clarke knows that. But the queen is still too far away for Clarke to see her properly.
The music shifts and, as if on cue, Madi skips towards the castle, tossing white rose petals in a haphazard fashion. Bellamy and Eliza walk slowly up the aisle, a dashing pair in sleek suits of crimson and grey. Octavia and Anya fall into step beside them and then Raven and Murphy follow. Abby kisses Clarke's cheek and hands her to Marcus. But the Grand Duke shakes his head.
"Abby, you should walk her," he says softly. "It's only fair."
"But, we practiced the other way and I—"
Clarke slips an arm through Abby's and then through Marcus' in turn, "I want you both to walk me."
They nod and fall into place beside her. And it's only with their help that Clarke manages to move forward. Her feet feel like leaden stones and her mouth tastes dry and bitter from only god knows what. The ping-pongs in her belly have become a sharp pendulum and her breath is only a shallow puff against the frigid air.
Twisted boughs of pine line either side of the green runner, a sharp contrast to the brilliant white powder, and every ten feet a brazier does its best to warm the air. Eventually, the manicured gardens give way to a large clearing before the terrace where at least a thousand stand before their chairs. A thousand eyes all looking at her, all holding their breath as an American baker from Chicago storms the castle to take their queen. The thought causes a hiccuping, nervous laugh to leave Clarke and when her parents both glance down she just shakes her head.
Her ocean eyes turn up once more and this time her breath catches. Clarke is close enough now to make out Lexa's face from the terrace. The queen stands at the top of the steps, near where she danced with Clarke at the charity gala over a year ago. A wide, happy smile pulls at the corners of Lexa's mouth and Clarke can feel a similar expression dawn over her own features the longer she stares at her queen. A dark charcoal suit accentuates the curves of Lexa's body, the places which are soft and round and the ones which Clarke knows hold absolutely zero fat.
The murmur of the crowd fades away until Clarke is no longer aware of the mass of people surrounding her. The beating muscle in her chest thumps a steady rhythm, slowing to keep time with the singing cello. But while her pulse has slowed, Clarke's steps have quickened. Something drawing her instinctively forward, a string tied to her chest which tugs her closer to the queen with increasing urgency until Clarke is fairly dragging her parents behind her.
The green in Lexa's eyes darkens from jade to tourmaline as Clarke begins to climb the steps, just twenty between them. Then Ten. Five. One. Clarke forces herself to look away as her mother and father press a kiss to each cheek. But her eyes snap back to Lexa before Abby and Marcus have even begun their descent. A hand, Lexa's hand, reaches out to her and Clarke steps forward, grasping onto those slender fingers.
"You look beautiful," Lexa whispers in her ear as they turn to stand in front of the priest.
Clarke swallows, eyes dragging over the queen once more, pausing on the honey-brown braid which drapes over one shoulder. "So do you."
Lexa smiles that soft grin which she reserves only for Clarke and the blonde leans forward, pressing her lips to the queen's soft mouth. A light cough interrupts Clarke and she pulls back, blushing as the officiant gives her a pointed look. The man's face becomes placidly neutral at the queen's raised eyebrows and then he begins to speak to the assembly.
"No dress?" Clarke murmurs to Lexa, eyes sliding sideways.
"Oh, I have one. But it's for later and definitely not for everyone to see."
Clarke's heart stalls and then beats triple time. She bites her lip to keep from asking more questions because now that is all she can think about. She imagines Lexa in a black silk teddy and then in a silver backless dress and then in only a red thong and her mind becomes so distracted that her cheeks feel outrageously warm in the winter air when the officiant finally addresses them.
"Your vows, your majesty. Miss Griffin."
Lexa's hands slide into Clarke's, lacing their fingers together as they turn to face one another. The queen's eyes are wide, less guarded than Clarke has ever seen them. And an untethered joy mixes with fervent awe as Lexa stares at Clarke.
"I have few words to say other than this," Lexa's voice is strong and clear when she speaks. And though her speech is amplified for the rest of the crowd, it feels intimate, meant only for Clarke. "Truth, Love, and Honor. They were ideas, intangible, something I only understood in theory… until I met you." Lexa's eyes shimmer in the wintery sunlight and her throat bobs once before she continues almost reverently, "Clarke, you have taught me the importance of truth. Of always speaking the truth that is inside no matter what the consequences. You have taught me to love more deeply than I ever thought possible, to give all of myself and to not see that as a sacrifice. But mostly… you have taught me to honor those around me, to honor myself, to see people as their authentic truth, first and foremost." Clarke swallows the tightness in her throat as a few tears sting her eyes and fall slowly down her cheeks. Lexa says finally, quietly, "I am grateful for every day we have spent together thus far and every day that is yet to come. I love you."
Then it's Clarke's turn and her stomach somersaults. Her mind panics and nags at her to remember the crowd staring up, to remember all the people listening, to not make a fool of herself. But Clarke keeps her gaze focused on Lexa, on the beautiful sharp planes of the queen's face, allowing all of those thoughts to disappear.
"Lexa," she breathes out, staring into that unwavering green. Clarke swallows and admits, "I've been trying to think of something profound to say for weeks. I wrote down a million different cheesy lines to tell you how much I love you. I even wrote a poem about your gorgeous green eyes." The queen chuckles and distantly Clarke registers the muffled laughter of those below.
"It was horrible by the way… which is why I'm not saying it now." Clarke blushes, shaking her head, "Anyways, nothing I wrote down felt right or true or good enough to express the depth of my feeling. I don't have something eloquent planned and it's been driving me crazy because I plan everything. You know that!" Lexa smiles and Clarke lets out a short laugh. "I guess, all this is to say that… my love for you is simple. It doesn't take enormous words or lengthy speeches to describe. It's just there. A part of me. A truth. Like a piece of code in my DNA or… or an essential ingredient in baking. That's how I love you. All of you."
The queen's throat bobs and her eyes glisten as she stares at Clarke. An indefinable sense of happiness swells within the blonde baker. Because, she can't believe how lucky she is. She can't quite believe she gets to be here, to marry this incredible woman.
"Alexandra Kom Trikru, daughter of Alexander Kom Trikru, son of Arianna Kom Trukru, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
"I do," Lexa murmurs, her eyes never leaving Clarke.
"And Clarke Michelle Griffin, daughter of Abigail Elizabeth Griffin-Kane, daughter of Elizabeth Marie Clairmont, do you take her majesty to be—"
"I do," Clarke breathes out and then laughs at her own eagerness. "I do."
"Then by the power vested in me by the sovereign nation of Polis, I present to you Queen Alexandra Kom Trikru and her wife, Princess Clarke Kom Trikru. Your majesty, you may kiss your bride."
Clarke expects Lexa to lean forward with all the casual grace and restraint of a principled monarch. It's what would be proper after all. So when the queen surges forward, it is all Clarke can do to keep from gasping. Lexa's fingers slide into Clarke's coiffed hair, pulling the blonde's lips firmly against her own. Clarke's eyes flutter shut at the sweet pressure. And it like a shower of sparks igniting her eyelids, like a shimmer of starlight pulsing through her blood. More perfect than anything before and a fervent promise of all that is to come.
Clarke's mouth opens against Lexa's and she wraps her arms around the queen's waist, sighing happily against the plush softness of Lexa's mouth. She can feel Lexa smile against her and only when the queen reluctantly pulls back does Clarke force her languid gaze open.
"Wife," Lexa murmurs with a smile, so close that Clarke can almost taste the word on her tongue.
The blonde baker grins, heart full to bursting. "Don't you mean, your highness?"
The queen's face splits into a wide smirk and she pulls Clarke even closer until no space remains between them. Cheers from the crowd ring out and the music below swells to a triumphant pitch. There is probably some form of ceremony which they are supposed to uphold now. A procession back down the aisle, perhaps. But Clarke doesn't really care. She is perfectly happy where she is. Here. In Lexa's arms.