#millipop

*

The first time they see each other, Clarke can’t help feeling awkward. It’s been ten years since the first movie, longer than most studios like to wait for sequels, but not as long as the time gap in the real books. Clarke is a little young to pass as the mother of a teenager, but Sabriel was supposed to be young when the children were born, and she’s not in the movie that much anyway, not quite a cameo, but not really a leading role either. Any time they want her back, she’ll come, and be happy. She loved the role.

But it’s been almost that long since she saw Bellamy, and part of her doesn’t know what to do with him in her life again. She’s kept up with him as best she can, knew he was doing well and seemed happy, but she’s still not ready to be with him. The first sight of him still stops her short.

His hair is longer, and he’s got a patchy beard going that might be for the role and might not. It does make him look older, and maybe that’s what they were looking for, but it also makes him look different, a physical reminder of all the years they’ve been apart.

For a second, she thinks about ducking out of sight before he turns all the way, but it’s only for a second. They’re working on a movie together, playing a married couple. She’s not going to be able to avoid him, and putting off talking to him won’t help.

Besides, she did like him. Loved him, even. And they crashed and burned pretty spectacularly, but a lot of that was a function of being kids in the public sphere. She was nineteen when they broke up; she’s more mature now. Smarter. She can deal with this.

So when he sees her, she raises her hand, smiles. “Hey.”

He blinks at her, surprised; he’s wearing his glasses, which he never used to do in public, and his eyes soften as he takes her in. “Hey. Long time no see.”

“I was avoiding you for like five years,” she says, and he takes it for the joke it is, ducks his head on a laugh.

“Yeah? What about the other four and a half years?”

“You never come to awards shows, when was I going to see you?”

“Yeah, that’s on me.” He wets his lips. “I feel like I apologized at least once, but–”

“Stop,” she says, holding up her hand. “We were both stupid kids. You broke my heart, I broke yours, neither of us dealt with it well. So we’re even, right? No hard feelings? We can still work together.”

“Definitely,” he says. But when he smiles again, her heard flips over, and when he says, “It’s good to see you again, Clarke,” some part of her melts.

She didn’t want to break up with Bellamy before. It just happened anyway.

“Yeah,” she says. “You too.”

*

It’s about a week before they’re making out in her trailer. Clarke’s not quite sure how it happens, except that they’re hanging out together most of the time, and, again, she never stopped liking the things she liked about him before. He’s just as attractive and intelligent and easy to talk to as he always has been, and when he looks at her, she still feels like the only person in the world.

When she asks him if he wants to get a drink in her trailer, she knows what she’s really asking, and when he says yes, she thinks he knows what he’s agreeing to. She’s the one to move in closer, he’s the one to cup her jaw in his hand, and the kiss is mutual, familiar and new all at once, the scrape of his beard enough to remind her that he’s not the same boy she used to love.

“Clarke,” he says, soft, between kisses, and it doesn’t feel like a question, but she wants to give an explanation anyway. She feels like she has to say something.

“Just–” she starts, but just this once feels like a waste. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal,” she says instead, and he lets out a shuddering breath.

“Yeah,” he says, and kisses her again.

*

They’re only filming for three weeks, which means they don’t have that long together, and within a few days, Clarke’s making sure to see him every day, trying to get as much time with him as possible, and she’s already dreading when she stops seeing him again.

It’s not just that the sex is amazing, although it is. Spending time with him is just as good as it used to be, and she think they’ve grown up to have even more in common. Bellamy will make a dry comment, and she’ll be the only one who acknowledges it, the two of them catching each others’ eyes and grinning. They have a lot in common, and if not for what happened before, she’d ask hi if he wanted something more serious.

But she can’t quite get over that, so he’s the one to say, two days before their filming wraps, “It could be a big deal.”

The statement doesn’t really follow from anything; they’re in bed at his hotel room, naked and sated, Clarke curled against his bare chest with one of his arms wrapped around her, his thumb absently stroking her shoulder. She’d been thinking about falling asleep, but the rumble of his voice is more interesting.

“What?” she asks.

He clears his throat. “This. Us. I know last time was–I was way too young to like you as much as I did. I didn’t know what the fuck to do with myself.”

She smiles, presses a kiss against the smooth skin above his heart. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“So–we could try again, right? Not picking up where we left off, but–”

This time, she props herself up so she can kiss his lips. “Something new,” she says, and he smiles.

“Something new.”

*

It doesn’t feel like it should be hard to not talk about dating Bellamy again. After all, every instinct she has is telling her to be careful, to be cautious. This nearly broke her, the last time it went wrong, and just because it hasn’t gone wrong yet, it doesn’t mean it won’t. There’s no reason to think he’ll last longer than anyone else she’s dated.

But she’s happy. It’s been a long time, since she’s been this happy, and she doesn’t want to tell the world, but she wants to tell people, and that’s dangerous, because the more people who know, the better chance there is that it will get out. Her people would want to leak it, probably; getting back together with Bellamy would be great PR.

It doesn’t help that he agreed to keep it quiet, when she mentioned it. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, she doesn’t think he’s embarrassed, but it feels as if they’re both admitting they don’t expect it to last.

And she doesn’t expect that. But she wants it to.

“You never talk about who you’re dating,” she observes. They’re on his couch, him playing video games and her reading scripts, and it feels comfortable and lived in in a way it never did the last time. They don’t go to events or parties together, but they spend their weekends in one apartment or the other, the kind of casual, lowkey relationship they never had before. It was easy to always be on when they dated the first time, going to every party together, always in the spotlight, and she thought he wanted that. Thought they both did.

Now, she’s not so sure.

“Right now I’m dating this actress,” he says, absent. “Cute, kind of bossy, but–”

She swats his shoulder. “I meant before. When we were dating, we were out every night, and then you just–stopped.”

“So did you.”

“Yeah, but I know why I stopped.”

“Why?”

“Because our very public breakup sucked and I never wanted to do that again?”

“I never liked it that much to begin with,” he admits. “If that was what I had to do to date you, I’d do it, but–sometimes it felt like you just liked the attention.”

The sting is old and easy to ignore. “Sometimes it felt like you just liked parties.”

He actually laughs. “So, a couple teenagers sucked at communicating. That’s news.”

“You were twenty.”

“Yeah, so old and wise.” He kisses her hair. “I just liked you, Clarke. I wanted to do what would make you happy, which was stupid, because if I wasn’t happy too, it wouldn’t last.”

“I grew up in Hollywood. My understanding of relationships involves them being very public.”

“But you learned your lesson with me?”

“I thought I did. It’s possible there’s something about dating you that makes me want to tell everyone.”

He laughs, leans down to kiss her hair. “So, you want to brag about me?”

“What’s not to brag about?”

“We can go to more parties if you want,” he offers, but his voice is slightly off.

“That’s not what I mean. Just–it’s weird for me. I’ve been keeping relationships quiet for ten years because of you, and now I’m back with you and all I want to do is call all my friends and gossip.”

He laughs, and the tension leaves his body all at once. “You can do that.”

“I don’t trust all my friends.”

“That sounds like an issue with your friends.”

“Do yours know?”

“Just the ones I trust,” he teases, and she elbows him. “Really, though. I don’t have a ton of close friends. I told Miller we got back together, he was–worried.”

“Yeah?”

“You broke my heart last time.”

“You broke mine too.”

He smiles, tugs her close. “So we’re even. I don’t mind if you want to tell people, Clarke. Just–I’m not interested in being part of Hollywood’s next it couple.”

“I’m not either. But–I really like you,” she admits. It feels like failure, somehow. Ten years spent trying to get over the heartbreak Bellamy Blake, and in two months, she’s right back where she started.

“I really like you too,” he says. “I think we can do better this time.”

She cuddles closer. “Yeah. So far, so good.”

*

She starts wearing her engagement ring on the press tour for Abhorsen. It wasn’t particularly hard to wait that long; Bellamy proposed in a fairly casual way after the movie wrapped, and she wore the ring at home and among friends, not terribly concerned if word got out. But when the press tour rolls around, it feels like time to announce it. They’re not planning to hide the wedding or anything, so it’s bound to come up.

It’s the third reporter who says, “I can’t help noticing the ring.”

“Amazingly, you’re the first one to say that,” says Bellamy.

She smiles. “You’ve been waiting too?”

“We had a bet,” Clarke says.

“So your co-stars knew?”

“Coming,” says Clarke.

Personally, she thinks her healing grace could have been good, if she was still a princess. She could have healed people and still ruled, as long as she didn’t overexert herself.

Lord Marcus would say that didn’t sound possible, and he might have been right too. Clarke’s not good at idleness, but that’s part of being an orphaned, dethroned princess too. It always feels like she should be doing something, and as long as she can’t be doing something to take her throne back from the rebellion that seized it, she has to be doing something else.

Like healing a man with an arrow wound. That should take her mind off things for a while.

Eric is a good healer, but he’s ungraced, which means he’ll never be as good as Clarke. If he resents her for this, he’s never mentioned it, but she always has to wonder. He brings her in for difficult cases and leaves her there and knows that she’ll save people he never could. It has to be a good thing, for him. That’s why he became a healer, to save lives, and Clarke can help.

But if it was her, she’d still be just a little bit jealous. For all she’d hate it.

“Do we know how he was injured?” she asks.

“Hunting accident, he said. Dressed too darkly in the woods, shot by mistake.”

“Careless.”

Eric shrugs, holding the door open for her. “We all make mistakes. Let me know if you need anything.”

The man on the table is younger than Clarke expected, probably only a few years older than she is. He’s pressing the arrow into his flesh, face contorted in pain. It was a bad hit; Clarke can see how his organs must be ruptured, how long he has before that alone kills him. It’s a wonder he’s still awake, if she’s honest. He’s lucky he was close enough they could bring him to her, or he probably wouldn’t have made it.

“Hello, I’m Claire,” she says, washing her hands in the basin. “I’m going to need to take that arrow out.”

“Go ahead,” says the man, voice tight but even. “I’m not that attached to it.”

“It’s pretty attached to you. Do you want something to bite down on?”

“Please.”

He opens his mouth for the leather strip and bites down on it as soon as it’s in his mouth, which turns out to be reflective of how he is as a patient on the whole. The pain must be incredible, but he remains cooperative and compliant, dealing with it with an ease that makes Clarke long to see his eyes. They’ve been closed this whole time, but part of her can’t help thinking he must be a graceling of some kind, one who can withstand hurt better than normal people.

“All right,” she says, when she’s finally done. “You’ll need rest, but you’ll live.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re lucky you were so close to me.”

His eyes open, and she starts–one brown, one gold. He is a graceling. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“It wasn’t luck. I was looking for you.”

Her heart picks up, beating wildly in her chest, and her left hand searches the table behind her, seeking out something to defend herself with. A scalpel would be best, but there should be other–

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I wouldn’t try. You’re bigger than I am, but you also took an arrow to the gut.” Then again, if he is graced, and he got shot on purpose just to see her, he could have been faking the pain, too. Maybe his grace is to keep going, no matter what.

“Yeah, I noticed.” His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “I’m here to ask for your help. Or maybe offer you mine. It depends on how you feel about Arcadia.”

The hair on the back of her neck stands up. “I’ve never been.”

“Huh.” He’s quiet for a minute, and all Clarke can hear is her own wild heartbeat. She’s going to have to leave. Move somewhere else, disappear. She might not be able to heal anymore, if someone knows the former Arcadian princess is a graced healer. He can’t be the only one who knows, he can’t possibly be that stupid. And someone must have agreed to shoot him.

“So, you’re not interested in being a princess again?” he finally asks. “Because we need a ruler, and you’re our best option.”

Thoughts race through her mind, too quickly to pin down. The graceling man is watching her, mismatched eyes steady. He’s propped himself up on his elbows on the table, and while there’s still pain in his features, it doesn’t seem to be slowing him down.

“Who are you?” she finally asks.

“Bellamy. Counter-revolutionary.”

“Counter-revolutionary,” she repeats.

“I know you haven’t been back since the coup,” he says. “It wouldn’t be safe. But Queen Diana is killing Arcadia, and we need to get her out of power and get someone else in power.”

“And you think I’d be better?” she asks. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know that bringing back a lost princess is a great way to get people on your side.”

“And what if I’m not the ruler you’re looking for?”

Clarke can see him weighing his responses, deciding which one to go with. When he finally says, “If we can overthrow one bad dictator, we can probably get rid of another one,” she has to smile.

“So you got yourself shot in the stomach just to ask me to come be the figurehead of your revolution?”

“If it wasn’t a bad enough injury, I couldn’t be sure they’d send me to you,” says Bellamy, as if this is a totally logical reason to let someone put an arrow in him.

Maybe it is. There’s a logic to it Clarke has to admire. He knew the princess of Arcadia was a graced healer who wasn’t seen out of the infirmary often, and that she was called in for the most dire of cases. So he made himself a dire case, and here he is.

“Are you graced to not feel pain?” she asks.

“If only. It hurts like hell.”

She smiles in spite of herself. “You’re doing very well.”

“Thanks.” He wets his lips, moves his elbows so he’s flat on his cot again, eyes sliding shut. “We need you, your highness,” he murmurs. It sounds like a prayer.

“You can’t call me that here.”

“Clarke.”

The name is like an electric shock. It’s no more proof he knows who she is than anything else he’d said; of course he would know her real name, if he also knew that she was the princess. But it’s been so long since anyone called her that. Even Marcus calls her Claire, to be safe, so he won’t slip up when it matters.

“Not that either.”

His expression clouds. “Is that not what you said?”

“You were in a lot of pain. Claire.”

“I’m still in a lot of pain.”

“Who shot you?”

“My sister. She’s our best archer.” He winces, and Clarke feels a twinge of guilt. He’s been so lucid that she could forget his injury, but if he doesn’t have a grace that helps him with that, he must be miserable.

“You can tell me later,” she says. “You’re not going anywhere for a while.”

“Comforting.” He repositions, getting more comfortable. “Thanks for not killing me yet.”

“I’m a healer,” she points out, bringing him a potion to help him sleep and heal. “I’m not going to kill you.”

He takes the potion without protest, doesn’t even wince at the taste. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

His voice is already fading into sleep, so Clarke doesn’t bother responding. She takes one last look at him–tangled black hair, smooth tan skin dotted with freckles, solid muscle and good bone structure. His grace could be handsomeness; she’d been too busy to notice before.

It seems unlikely, but she adds the question to her list of things she needs the rebel to answer for her, before she decides what to do about him.

She has a feeling it’s not going to be the last thing she adds.

*

Bellamy heals quickly, but when he asks if his grace is helping, he just shakes his head. “I assumed yours was. I’ve heard that’s part of your grace.”

Clarke glances around, but no one else is around, and their conversation is fairly private. “How much do you know about me?”

“Word gets around. Graced healers are popular.”

That’s not actually news. No one else she knows of has ever gotten shot just to see her, but there are people who make the long trip from neighboring kingdoms in the hopes that she can help them with grave illnesses. Marcus had said it was fine because no one had known her grace was before the coup, but he’d never liked it. But healing is her calling; she can’t stop any more than she could stop breathing.

“That doesn’t really answer my question,” she points out.

“I know you’ve saved people who would have died if not for you. They don’t call you Claire, by the way, just the healer. I’ve heard some of the other kingdoms want to take you away from Eligius, but they don’t think they’d get away with it.”

Clarke has to smile. Marcus and General Diyoza are old friends, which was why he’d chosen to come here after Arcadia fell in the first place. She still doesn’t know what story he told about who she was, but she was never under official protection as anything other than a graceling orphan. It’s the same protection she still has now; the king wouldn’t take kindly to anyone trying to kidnap her.

But he couldn’t stop her leaving, if she ever wanted to.

“I doubt they would.”

“Has anyone ever tried?”

“I think you’re the first.”

“I’m not exactly another kingdom trying to steal you.”

“Aren’t you?”

He smiles. “I’m your kingdom.”

It’s what Clarke thinks of as a typical Bellamy statement, in that it sounds helpful, but gives her almost no information. It should be frustrating, but–no one talks about her kingdom, her status, anything about her old life. He’s the first person who’s ever brought Arcadia up to her like this, like she’s still a part of it.

Like it’s hers.

“You never told me how you got involved in this.”

“I haven’t told you a lot of things,” he says, like she doesn’t know that.

“Does that mean you’re going to?”

“Are you coming with me when I leave?”

“I think I need more information before I leave with you.”

His smile is a little sad. “Honestly, I don’t know what to tell you to convince you.”

There are good things she could say, smart things. She could ask him about his group of counter revolutionaries, what their plan is, what they expect her to do, how much power they’ll want to have. Those are important questions that should determine what she does.

But at the heart of everything is her real question: can she trust him? Because if she trusts him, then she believes all the other questions she has have good answers.

And she wants to trust him.

“What’s your grace?” she asks.

For a long moment, she thinks he won’t answer. Maybe he doesn’t actually know, hasn’t found it yet. Maybe he is lying, and he doesn’t want her to know the truth of his grace, either. Maybe he doesn’t trust her.

But at last, he says, “History.”

It’s so bizarre it doesn’t even occur to her to think he’s lying. “History?”

“That’s how I think of it.” She gives him an impatient look and he ducks his head, smiling. “Honestly, I didn’t figure out what it was until the coup happened. My family owns a tavern in Arcadia City, and one of the conspirators used to drink there. He always looked–different to me, I guess? It’s hard to explain. It’s like certain people glow. I saw the king once, he had it too. I couldn’t figure out the pattern, I thought it was just connection to royalty, but after the coup–”

“The new leaders had it too, yeah. It’s the people who make history. That’s how I found the revolutionaries. And how I know the revolution is going to work. Or at least do something.”

“Is that why they sent you to meet me?” she asks.

“Yeah. The princess should already be glowing.”

“And I am?”

“Yeah. More, now.”

“More?”

He shrugs. “I think it means you’re going to come with me.”

It’s been a done deal for a long time, if she’s honest. She’s been waiting for something to come along, for any excuse to do something more.

She’s a healer, and a princess. Her country needs fixing. She should be the one to fix it.

“I am,” she agrees, and he grins, bright and wide. He’s glowing, too.

“Perfect. When are we leaving?”

*

“Your grace really doesn’t help you with pain?” Clarke asks. They only have one horse, so she’s riding behind him, trying not to let her anxiety show. She went back and forth on telling Marcus, finally decided it wasn’t worth the risk. It would have been nice to have his help, but if he’d been opposed, he would have stopped her.

Once it’s done, he can rejoin her court, if he wants. Or she’ll be dead.

“It doesn’t,” Bellamy says, pulling her thoughts back from that unfortunate path. “Why?”

“If it doesn’t, you have a very high tolerance for pain. I didn’t think you’d be ready to go this soon.”

“I still think that’s you. I’m not ignoring the pain, I’m not in pain. That’s your grace helping me, not mine.”

“And when you rode in with an arrow in your gut?”

“I was in an incredible amount of pain,” he says, flashing a grin over his shoulder. “I just powered through it.”

“For the rebellion?”

“What, you don’t think that’s worth it?”

“You haven’t told me how you got involved yet.”

“There’s not much to tell. If the group that overthrew your family had been good, I wouldn’t have cared.” He pauses, must realize how it sounds, because he adds, “No offense. But I was pretty young when the revolution happened, I didn’t have much of an opinion on the royals. But when King Jacob was in power, my life was better, and after Diana took over, my life got worse. The older I got, the more I realized she was a tyrant and we needed her gone.”

“So you looked at every revolutionary group until you found one that was going to succeed?”

“Well, almost.”

“Almost?”

“There were a couple good people in a few different groups, so I just recruited them myself.”

She laughs, resting her cheek against his back. “So, this is your group.”

“Not just mine.”

“Who else? You said your sister was the one who shot you, right?”

“Yeah, Octavia. She’s a year or two younger than you are. I didn’t want her to get involved, but–” He shrugs. “She told me it was her shitty kingdom too, and she was right. And I know she has something big to do. So as long as she’s with me, I can keep an eye on her.”

“Except right now.”

“She dropped me off, but as soon as she did, she was supposed to go back to camp with everyone else.” He smiles. “If this went wrong, at least I was the only one who’d get caught.”

“Do you know you’re important?” she asks, curious. “Do you have the destiny glow?”

“Me?”

He sounds genuinely surprised by the question, and she rolls her eyes even though he can’t see. “You’re making history, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I have it, yeah. It’s actually, uh–it’s been getting brighter? I feel a little weird about it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It feels like cheating, I guess. Like I’m using my grace to force myself into history.”

“Or your grace makes it easy for you to figure out where you can do the most good.”

“Assuming I’m doing good. Maybe I’m getting closer and closer to becoming some shitty tyrant.”

“You’re using your grace the best you can, just like everyone else.” She settles closer. “Tell me about the rest of our army. Do we have a plan for what to do next?”

“We’re working on it,” he says, and Clarke feels her eyes drift shut as she listens to him.

For the first time in a long time, it feels like she’s going somewhere. And going in the right direction.

*

The rebellion grows quickly, once Clarke is involved. As Bellamy said, Queen Diana isn’t exactly popular, and Clarke herself is, as it turns out, a good figurehead. She’s not the most charismatic or the best at speeches–that’s Bellamy, without a doubt–but she’s smart and sympathetic, an orphan girl who’s spent her life healing people. She’s exactly the kind of leader they want, after a decade under Queen Diana’s harsh rule. Word of her return spreads like wildfire, but hushed and careful, rumors that the various members of the rebellion track through taverns and eating houses.

The rumors get back to Eligius in no time, and they, through the twisted grapevine that brought them the news, sent word back that they would be happy to help get the rightful queen back onto her throne.

“I guess I should have told Marcus I was leaving,” Clarke says, with a smile.

“Maybe.” Bellamy shrugs. “As long as he’s helping us, it doesn’t matter much when it happens, right? And now you’re doing it on your own terms. They’re coming to be our allies, you’re not anyone’s pawn.”

“What about yours?”

He rolls his eyes. “Like you listen to me.”

“When you have good ideas, I do.” She sobers. “Seriously, what are we going to do with an army?”

“Ideally? Not need it. That was why we wanted to find you, Clarke. Technically, with you alive, Queen Diana has no claim to the throne. But having a military force to back us–”

“Marcus might have proof,” she says. “That I’m the princess.”

“If he did, why wasn’t he putting you back on the throne himself?”

“He thought it wasn’t safe. He might have been right,” she admits.

“You think?”

“The whole reason Diana could seize power is that she and her co-conspirators could take out the entire line of succession. I’m the one with a rightful claim to the throne, but I’m the only one left in the royal line. I’m going to need an army of bodyguards. Ones I can trust. Diana has a family; I’m a succession crisis waiting to happen.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

He sounds a little hurt, and Clarke’s heart aches. “I thought it was obvious. And irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant?”

“Diana is a bad ruler. We need her out of power. I’m the person who can get her out of power. Once she’s out, then we worry about me.”

“We can worry about you now,” he says, petulant.

“Once I have my throne, I’ll get married. It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh yeah, marriage, totally minor.”

“Pretty standard, for royalty. I don’t mind,” she adds. It’s mostly, if not entirely, true. It’s at least potentially true. There are circumstances in which she can imagine getting married and not minding at all. “I always knew if I was going to reclaim my throne, I’d need to get married, and probably produce an heir.”

“And you don’t mind.”

“I’m not thrilled. But I need to rule, and I think I have to do this to do that. You know I’m right.”

He doesn’t look pleased, but he admits, “I do know, yeah.”

Marcus must know too, because when Clarke arrives at their meeting, he greets her with, “You couldn’t have let me marry you off first?”

Clarke frowns. “First?”

“We should do it as soon as possible. I’ve been trying to find a suitable match so that you can be established before you try to reclaim the throne. I still think it’s a good idea.”

“What is?” Bellamy snaps. He’s had a short fuse since their conversation about marriage, and Clarke is trying not to feel too hopeful about it. Not when there’s still so much that could go wrong.

“I’m sorry,” says Marcus, mild. “Who are you?”

“He’s my friend and ally,” says Clarke. “And I expect you to respect him.”

“Fine. I think the princess should be at least engaged and ideally married before we contest Queen Diana’s claim to the throne. If you throw a single girl with no living family into leadership of a country still recovering from a coup, it won’t do much good.”

“So you want us to wait to overthrow Arcadia until Clarke has a couple kids?” Octavia asks, arms crossed over her chest. She looks just like Bellamy when she does it, and Clarke can’t help a smile. “Arcadia needs a new ruler now. You don’t know what it’s like, you haven’t been living there.”

“And if something happens to Clarke?”

“If she died as soon as she took power, she wouldn’t be very important,” Bellamy says. “And she is.”

“I could die and start another revolution,” Clarke points out, and he glares at her.

Marcus doesn’t seem to notice. “We have some prospects for Clarke’s marriage. More, since the rumors of her return have started. It won’t take long.”

“You can’t just ask her to–” Bellamy starts, and Marcus whirls on him.

“I’m sorry, are you telling me that we can ask her to be the figurehead of a revolution, but marriage is going too far? I’m not the one who got her into this situation with no plan except confidence that my grace would guide me.”

“Enough,” says Clarke, rubbing her face. “This isn’t helping.” She glances between Marcus and Bellamy, trying to figure out which one to talk to first.

It’s not really much of a question; she loves Marcus, is grateful for all he did, but he’s never been an ally, an equal. He’s always been someone who told her what to do, and Clarke’s not interested in whom he thinks she should marry.

“I need to talk to Bellamy,” she says. “Alone.”

Judging from the look he shoots her, Marcus knows what she’s planning to say, but Bellamy is just agitated, at least until everyone clears out. Then he deflates, the air and fight all going out of him. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Clarke asks, mild.

“This isn’t any of my business. If you want to let Kane marry you off-”

She bites back on a smile. “Are you glowing more?”

“What?”

“Your grace. Are you getting more important?”

“We all are.” But he’s frowning, expression cloudy as he thinks about it. “I’m doing it more than anyone other than you, yeah. How did you know?”

It’s easy to tell herself that there’s only one possible reason, but there could be thousands. Maybe he’ll put her in power and realize she’s no better, commit regicide and make a name for himself like that. He could continue to be her friend, her confidante, her most trusted ally, and that could be enough for him to be as important as he’s becoming.

But that’s not what she thinks it’s happening. Not what she’s hoping for.

“Because I want to marry you,” she says, with a small smile. “And if you want to marry me too, then you’ll–”

“Marry me?” he asks, recovering enough to speak, but still clearly wrong-footed. “Why?”

“Why?”

“Kane said you had a lot of options, there must be a more politically advantageous–”

“I want to marry you,” she says, and his face melts into a smile as the words sink in.

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“Kane isn’t going to like it.”

“No, but he can’t stop me. I’ll be married and happy and my royal husband won’t have to live with the knowledge that I prefer one of my advisers to him. Probably good for the health of the country.”

“Very logical,” he teases. “Responsible. Does this mean I can’t kiss you? If it’s just for–”

She kisses him before he can finish the question, and he grins against her mouth, tugging her closer, settling in as if he’s planning to do this for a long time.

“I’m planning on kissing you a lot more,” she says. “But we should probably go tell Marcus so he can make arrangements for the wedding. And taking back the throne.”

“Always something to do, huh?”

“We have history to make, right?”