#the100

Lincoln sits against the opposite wall, his head bowed, eyes closed. Whether he's asleep or simply conserving his strength, I can't tell. Kane rests nearby, one arm draped over a bent knee, watching the corridor through the bars with the patience of a man who has spent his life waiting for impossible things.

A metallic clang echoes somewhere outside. Another follows. Then hurried footsteps.

Kane's eyes sharpen. "They're up early."

The footsteps grow louder until they stop outside our cell. Keys rattle and the lock clicks. The heavy iron door swings inward. Six guards file inside, rifles already raised.

"On your feet." The guard in front commands. 

I exchange a glance with Lincoln before pushing myself upright. My muscles protest after spending the night on stone. Kane rises beside me with a quiet grunt.

One guard steps forward and unlocks the chains securing Lincoln to the wall, only to replace them with heavier shackles around his wrists. Another does the same to me. Cold metal bites into my skin.

The guard jerks my arms behind my back harder than necessary. "You Grounders never learn."

I bite back the urge to drive my elbow into his ribs. Only because I wouldn't make it three steps afterward.

"Move." He commands. 

The morning air is cold. I shiver involuntarily. A thin layer of mist hangs over Arkadia, drifting between the buildings like restless spirits. People have already begun gathering, abandoning their breakfasts and chores to watch as we're marched across camp. Every pair of eyes follows us. Some stare with open hatred. Others look uncomfortable. A few refuse to meet my gaze altogether.

I recognize several faces. People I had helped in Mount Weather. People I'd spoken with months ago. Now they stand in silence while rifles point at my back. Funny how quickly fear changes people.

Lincoln walks beside me with the same calm dignity he carries into everything. His chains rattle softly with every step.

Kane leans closer without looking at either of us. "They're making a spectacle of this."

"They want everyone watching," I murmur.

Lincoln nods once. "So no one questions what comes next."

We stop in the center of the camp. Pike waits on the platform outside the administration building. His hands are clasped behind his back. Bellamy stands several feet to his right. His eyes find mine almost instantly. I look away before he can mistake my expression for forgiveness. There isn't any.

Pike surveys the growing crowd before speaking. "People of Arkadia." His voice carries effortlessly across the square. "We've endured loss."

Murmurs ripple through the crowd. "We've buried our friends." His gaze sweeps over the people assembled below. "We've been attacked in our homes."

A few nod in agreement. "And yet..." He turns toward us. "...there are still those among us who would side with our enemies."

He gestures toward Lincoln first. "This man is a Grounder." Lincoln doesn't react. "He aided in attacks against our people."

Pike steps toward Kane. "This man betrayed his own people." Kane keeps his head high. "He released dangerous prisoners."

Then Pike stops in front of me. His eyes narrow.

"And this..." He speaks louder. "...is Princess Y/N of the Ice Nation."

Whispers spread immediately through the crowd. Pike allows the murmurs to continue before raising a hand for silence.

"The war chief of Azgeda. She entered Arkadia under the protection of Commander Lexa." His lip curls around Lexa's name. "Then turned against us."

I laugh quietly. Several heads turn.

Pike notices. "You find something amusing?"

"I do." I lift my shackled hands as much as the chains allow. "You keep saying 'turned against us.'"

His expression hardens.

"I was never one of your people." The words land like a stone dropped into still water. Several Sky People exchange uncertain looks. "I came here to keep the peace," I continue.

"You declared war." Pike steps closer until only a foot separates us. "You helped twenty-eight enemy combatants escape."

"I helped twenty-eight innocent people survive," I say evenly. 

"They were Grounders." He snarls. 

"Yes. But they were also prisoners.” I reply calmly. The camp falls silent.

Pike studies me for a long moment before speaking again. "I expected better from a princess."

I smile without warmth. "And I expected better from a teacher."

Something flashes across his face. Anger. The crowd shifts uneasily. Bellamy stares at the ground. Pike straightens.

"For crimes against Arkadia..." His voice rings across the camp. ".. .I, Charles Pike, acting Chancellor, hereby sentence Marcus Kane, Lincoln, and Princess Y/N to death." The words echo through the square. Even the wind seems to stop.

I glance sideways at Kane. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. Lincoln simply closes his eyes.

Pike continues. "The sentence will be carried out today."

A ripple of surprise spreads through the crowd. Today? Well, this complicates things. 

Even Bellamy looks up sharply. "Pike," he says, unable to hide the surprise in his voice.

Pike doesn't acknowledge him. "The executions will serve as a reminder." He looks over the people gathered before him. "Anyone who aids our enemies shares their fate."

My gaze drifts back to Bellamy. For just a second. His face has gone pale. He hadn't known. Well, let him feel, for one moment, what helplessness tastes like. Before I can look away, our eyes meet. Regret and desperation stare back at me. Bellamy takes half a step forward, almost without thinking.

Pike notices. "Guard them until it's time."

The spell breaks. Bellamy's shoulders stiffen. He doesn't move again.

The guards escort us back to the prison. The corridor is damp and dim, the air thick with mildew and rust. A guard shoves Lincoln through the cell door first. Kane follows. I stumble after him as another pair of hands tears the shackles from my wrists, only to fasten them to the ring bolted into the wall. The iron bites into my skin. The cell door slams shut, and the lock turns with a heavy click.

"There," one of the guards mutters. "Won't be long now." Their footsteps disappear down the corridor.

I sink against the wall, rubbing absentmindedly at the raw skin around my wrists. Across from me, Kane exhales slowly through his nose.

"So," I say, forcing a dry smile, "that could have gone better."

"It could have gone worse," Kane replies.

I arch an eyebrow. "I'm curious how."

"They could have done it immediately."

I huff a humorless laugh.

Lincoln remains standing near the bars, staring into the empty corridor. "They're nervous," he says quietly.

Kane joins him. "About what?"

"They announced the execution publicly." Lincoln doesn't look away. "Now they have to wait for the crowd."

I frown. "They want witnesses."

He nods once. "Fear spreads faster with an audience."

Minutes drag by. Or perhaps an hour. Time loses meaning when you're counting the breaths before your own execution. Somewhere farther down the block, a guard coughs. Water drips steadily from a cracked pipe overhead. The prison seems to breathe around us.

Many footsteps sound outside the door. Not the heavy, careless stride of Pike's guards. Kane straightens almost instantly. Lincoln's hand curls around one of the bars. The footsteps stop outside our cell.

A familiar voice whispers through the darkness. "Kane." Abby.

Kane closes his eyes for the briefest moment, relief flickering across his face. The lock clicks, and the door eases open. Abby slips inside first, followed by Octavia, Monty, Harper, and Miller.

Octavia doesn't hesitate. She crosses the cell in three strides and throws her arms around Lincoln. He catches her easily despite the chains, burying his face against her hair.

Monty is already fumbling with a ring of stolen keys.

"Hurry," Harper whispers, glancing over her shoulder. "We've only got a few minutes before the guards change shifts."

Miller kneels beside Kane, unlocking his shackles. "We've got a route through the maintenance tunnels," he says. "The cameras are down."

One by one, our chains fall to the floor with dull metallic clanks. I rub feeling back into my wrists as Abby presses a small knife into my hand. "We're getting you out."

I nod in thanks. Harper passes me a small knife, and I take it graciously. Within a few minutes, we’re ready to move.

I step out first, knife held low against my thigh. I have an odd sense that something is wrong. I take a breath to push down the feeling. The prison block stretches in both directions, lit only by the weak yellow glow of flickering bulbs.

"Clear," Miller whispers.

One by one, we slip into the hallway. Harper takes the lead. Monty follows close behind, clutching a radio he'd stripped from one of the guards. Abby stays near Kane, occasionally glancing over her shoulder as if expecting someone to come barreling around the corner.

Lincoln reaches for Octavia's hand. She takes it without hesitation. The sight twists something in my chest. I look away.

We reach the maintenance hatch and climb down one after another. The tunnels beneath Arkadia are cold and damp, barely wide enough for two people abreast.

"So this is your grand escape route?" I murmur.

Monty manages a nervous grin. "Not exactly what I pictured either."

"It's better than the front gate," Kane says.

"Low bar." I huff. A faint chuckle passes through the group before silence claims us again. No one wants to admit we're beginning to believe this might actually work.

The tunnel bends sharply to the left before opening into a wider utility corridor. Thick pipes snake along the ceiling, dripping steadily onto the concrete below. Every drop seems impossibly loud.

Miller raises a fist. We stop. Above us, muffled footsteps cross the ground. A truck engine rumbles somewhere in the camp before fading into the distance.

"Keep moving," he whispers.

The farther we get from the prison, the easier it becomes to breathe. Hope settles over the group in cautious silence. No alarms. No shouting. Just the steady rhythm of boots against damp concrete.

I glance over my shoulder. The prison entrance has long disappeared into darkness.

Monty checks the small handheld radio clipped to his belt. "So far, so good," he mutters. "The cameras are still looped."

Harper shoots him a look. "Don't jinx it."

"I didn't—" A burst of static interrupts him.

Everyone freezes. The radio crackles again. "...Sector Three..."

Monty frowns, turning the volume down. "They're checking in."

"Ignore it," Miller says.

"I am." He argues. 

Another burst of static. "...respond..."

Monty's face drains of color. "They're calling the prison guards." No one answers over the radio. The silence stretches for far too long. 

Harper looks at him. "How much time?"

"I don't know," Monty says. 

Kane's voice remains calm. "Then we assume none."

The tunnel narrows, forcing us into a single file. Abby stays close to Kane while Octavia refuses to let go of Lincoln's hand, as though releasing it would somehow make him disappear. I understand the feeling.

A rusted ladder rises toward a maintenance hatch overhead. Miller points toward it. "That's our exit."

Relief floods my chest. Monty reaches the base of the ladder. The tunnel erupts with the shrill scream of an alarm. Every light overhead flashes red.

"No," Monty breathes.

Static explodes from the radio.

"They found the guards," Harper gasps.

"They found the prison," Miller corrects grimly.

A heartbeat later, Charles Pike's voice echoes through the camp's loudspeakers, carried even into the tunnels beneath our feet.

"Attention. Security breach." His voice reverberates through the concrete walls. "All personnel report to your assigned sectors immediately." My pulse pounds in my ears.

"Go," Miller snaps.

We break into a run. The tunnel fills with pounding footsteps and ragged breathing. The hatch above grows closer with every stride.

Then Pike speaks again. "Lincoln." The single word cuts through the chaos like a knife. Lincoln slows. Only for an instant.

"If you continue this escape," Pike continues, his voice cold and deliberate, "the remaining Grounder prisoners in Arkadia will be executed."

My stomach drops. I look at Lincoln. His stride falters.

“He’s talking about the sick,” He states. Octavia grips his hand tighter.

"Keep running," she pleads.

He doesn't answer. He simply stares ahead, his expression unreadable.

"They're prisoners," I say, refusing to slow. "Pike needs them alive."

Lincoln's jaw tightens. "You've seen what he's capable of." I have. So has everyone else.

Another blast of static crackles overhead before Pike's voice returns. "You have one minute." The tunnel seems to shrink around us.

Octavia moves in front of Lincoln, forcing him to stop. "No."

He meets her eyes. "Move."

"No." Her voice breaks. "I'm not letting you do this." She grabs the front of his jacket with both hands. "You heard him," she whispers. "He's lying."

"Maybe," Lincoln says softly. 

"He is," Octavia argues. 

His hand rises to cradle her cheek. "Maybe."

"Lincoln." She says sternly, though her eyes fill with tears that betray her. 

Kane steps forward. "Lincoln."

Lincoln looks at him. "I've known men like Pike my entire life," Kane says evenly. "He wants leverage. Don't give it to him."

"And if I'm wrong?" Lincoln questions. Kane doesn't answer. None of us can.

The loudspeakers crackle once more. "Thirty seconds."

My heart pounds. I step toward Lincoln, grabbing his forearm. "We're almost out."

He looks at me. "I know."

"You don't owe Pike anything," I state. 

"I don't." He agrees with a sad smile. 

"You don't owe anyone your life." I say. 

His expression softens. "I owe my people everything." The words hit me like a blow. I understand what he means perfectly.

Behind us, Miller reaches the ladder. "We have to move!" he shouts. No one does.

Lincoln slips his hand from Octavia's grasp. She clings tighter. "Please." It isn't a command anymore. It's a prayer. "I can't lose you."

His thumb brushes away a tear that has escaped down her cheek. "You already found me."

Before anyone realizes what he's doing, he reaches into the pouch at his belt. A reaper stick flashes in his hand. He presses it against Octavia's neck. She gasps, and her grip loosens instantly. Her grip loosens almost instantly. Lincoln steadies her long enough to place her gently in Kane’s arms. She fights the sedative with everything she has.

Her fingers strain toward him. "Don't..." Her voice is barely audible. He kneels in front of her, resting his forehead against hers. He stands.

I step forward. "Lincoln." He turns to me. I see acceptance in his eyes. It makes my blood run cold.  "You don't have to do this." I plead. 

A small smile touches his lips. "Yes." His gaze softens. "I do."

I swallow hard. "We can still make it."

"No." He reaches out, resting both chained hands against my shoulders. "You've spent your life protecting your people," 

"So have you," I argue. I feel my throat tighten.

"You still have people who need you." His eyes search mine. "Roan." The name alone is enough to steal the air from my lungs. "Echo…”

I don't answer. I can't. Lincoln clasps my forearm, and I return the gesture. "I'm proud of the woman you've become."

My eyes burn. "I should've gotten here sooner."

"You came." His voice is gentle. "That was enough."

He steps back. Turning to Kane, he nods once. "Take care of her."

"I will," Kane answers quietly.

Lincoln gives me one last nod and retreats down the hallway. Every instinct screams at me to follow, to take his place, but I know that neither he nor Pike would ever allow that. 

One by one,  we climb up the ladder. Miller goes up first and takes Octavia from Kane’s arms. Everyone follows until it’s just Kane and me left. 

My feet are rooted to the stone. I can’t force myself up the ladder. 

“Y/N.” Kane says gently. “We have to go.”

I tear my gaze from the hallway to Kane’s face. I shake my head and climb up the ladder. Sunlight blinds me; it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. Our group retreats into the treeline. Octavia is lying on her horse. 

The forest swallows us whole. Branches whip across my face as Sinclair leads the way with Miller at his side. Kane is only a few steps behind him, favoring his injured leg but refusing to slow.

I can't breathe. We’re running, and Lincoln isn’t. Every instinct screams at me to turn around. I do.

"Y/N!" Kane calls. 

Miller reaches me in no time. He lunges toward me and grabs my wrist.  I wrench my arm free from his grasp. "I'm not leaving him!"

"You can't go back," Miller calls out. 

"The hell I can't?" I shove past him.

His hand catches my wrist. "He made his choice."

"So did I." I rip free. "He doesn't get to decide whether I leave him behind." I bark.

Kane steps between us. "He stayed so we could live." His voice is calm despite the urgency. "Don't waste that."

My jaw clenches. "I've already buried enough people."

"I know." Kane rests a hand on my shoulder. "But Lincoln understood something we don't want to." I look at him. "He'd rather die standing by his convictions than spend the rest of his life wondering who else paid the price for his escape."

The words hit like a blade. Because they're true. They sound exactly like something Lincoln would say.

A single gunshot echoes through the trees. I freeze.

One shot. Pike hadn't even given him the dignity of a warrior's death.

The sound wakes Octavia. She tumbles off her horse onto the ground. Her eyes are searching for the one person who is not here. 

I feel something inside me snap. A strangled sound escapes my throat. A flash of my Father’s lifeless body is at the forefront of my mind. I couldn’t help Lincoln just like I couldn’t help my father. 

Octavia's scream shatters the world. It echoes through the trees, raw enough to make my knees give out beneath me. 

“Yu gonplei ste odon,” I whisper. 

Silence settles over us beside the sounds of Octavia’s heartbreaking sobs. A single tear threatens to spill. I blink it away.

“What now?” Harper whispers to Monty. Exhaustion and grief are evident on both of their faces. 

I close my eyes. Hard resolve coats my face. I force my gaze back to the direction of the cave. "The only thing left now..." I swallow. "...is to make sure his sacrifice meant something."

Octavia's cries continue behind us. They follow us into the forest. Long after the clearing disappears from view. Long after the gunshot fades. I can still hear her. And I know I always will.

The people lining the streets bow their heads in silence as Lexa rides through the city. Clarke keeps pace beside her, her shoulders heavy with exhaustion. I follow a few lengths behind with the Commander’s guards, the rhythmic clatter of hooves echoing between the stone buildings.

By the time we reach the tower, stable hands are waiting at the foot of the steps. My horse snorts as I hand over the reins, eager for rest after days on the road.

I watch Lexa disappear inside without slowing. She has barely crossed the threshold before duty calls her back. Some things never change.

The throne room is quieter than usual. The council has not been summoned. Only a handful of guards line the walls, their spears planted against the worn stone floor. The evening light filtering through the high windows does little to warm the vast chamber.

Roan stands near one of the great pillars. He looks up as we enter.

"I take it Arkadia was less than accommodating." He guesses. 

Lexa doesn't answer. She silences him with a single look before continuing towards the throne.

Roan exhales a quiet laugh. "I'll take that as a no."

I shoot him a glare. The only sound is the soft echo of our footsteps across the stone floor.

Roan watches the Commander climb the shallow steps toward the throne before speaking again, this time with far less amusement.

"So Pike refused." He infers. 

"He did," Lexa replies simply.

"I expected nothing else." He says. 

"So did I." Lexa agrees. There is no anger in her voice.

Roan studies her for a long moment. "And now?"

Lexa turns to face him. "The blockade remains."

"Until?" He questions. 

"Until Pike answers for his crimes," Lexa answers. 

Roan nods slowly, considering her words. "He won't surrender."

"No." Lexa agrees. 

Roan tilts his head. "You know that, though."

"I do," Lexa states. 

A faint smile tugs at one corner of his mouth, though there is little humor behind it. "Then eventually you'll be forced to make a choice."

The room grows noticeably quieter. Even Titus pauses his task of sorting scrolls. 

Lexa holds Roan's gaze without wavering. "I already have."

For the first time since we entered the chamber, Roan's expression falters slightly. He understands what she means. She has already chosen peace. If Pike refuses it, whatever follows will not be on her conscience.

“Heda,” Titus begins. “Several ambassadors have requested a meeting.”

Lexa lets out a breath. “They can wait until morning.” She orders.

“Yes, Heda.” The flamekeeper bows his head. Only once he disappears through the side doors does she finally exhale. It was quiet enough that I almost missed it. Clarke noticed too.

"You should eat," she said gently. My brows raise in response to the softness in Clarke’s voice. 

"In a moment," Lexa replies. 

"You've barely slept." Clarke comments. 

"There will be time," Lexa assures her with a soft smile. 

Clarke opened her mouth to argue.Then thought better of it. I exit the throne room without waiting to be dismissed. 

The palace grows quieter as evening settles over Polis. The halls of the palace are empty. Most of the servants have retired for the evening, leaving only the occasional guard standing watch beneath flickering torches. I stop on one of the open balconies overlooking Polis. The city glows beneath the night sky. 

I hear footsteps behind me and Roan comes to join me on the balcony, resting his forearms on the stone railing. 

"So," he says after a long silence. "How long?"

I glance at him. "How long what?"

He keeps his eyes on the city. "How long was she like that?"

I take a deep breath. "I don't know."

"You have to." He says pointendly. 

I shake my head. "I don't."

He finally looks at me. "When did she stop being our mother?"

I let out a slow breath."I don't think she ever stopped being yours." His expression falters. "But she never really started with me," I look back over the city. "Any sense of a relationship died between us the same day Father did."

Loaded silence settles between us. I can tell that Roan wants to say something, but doesn’t know what. 

"The day Father died..." I say quietly. "I don't remember much after the battle." 

~ Flashback~

Crimson rivers wind through the snowbanks, weaving between fallen warriors and discarded steel.

The battle rages around us, steel ringing against steel as Azgeda warriors crash into the enemy line. Horses whine. Men shout. The wind carries the smell of blood and smoke across the frozen valley.

I can barely hear Father's orders over the chaos.

"Hold the left!" His voice cuts through the storm. "Drive them back!"

The warriors obey without hesitation.

I struggle to keep pace beside him, my legs burning as I weave between fallen bodies. 

Father glances over his shoulder. "Stay with me."

"I am." I gruff. 

"No farther." He orders. 

I roll my eyes. "I know."

"You don't." He almost smiles. Even in the middle of battle. He still finds time to smile at me.

A horn sounds somewhere ahead. The enemy surges forward.

"Shields!" Father commands. 

The world erupts into violence. Steel crashes against steel.

An Azgeda warrior falls beside me, clutching his throat as blood spills between his fingers. Father pushes me behind his shield.

"Stay back." He orders. 

"I can fight." I argue. 

"I know you can." His sword cuts through an enemy before the man can reach us. "But today..." He blocks another strike. "...you're staying with me."

I hate it. I hate that he still treats me like a child. I duck beneath another swinging blade and drive my sword into a man's side exactly as he taught me. My father notices.

"Good." He praises. It fills me with pride.

The fighting shifts uphill. Snow flies beneath our boots as we climb. The enemy begins to retreat.

"We're winning!" I shout, turning back to look at my father. 

He doesn't answer. His eyes are searching. He sees something I don't. His expression changes.

"Y/N!" He yells. 

I turn. Too slowly. An enemy warrior bursts through the fighting. He isn't looking at Father. He's looking at me. 

The axe in his hands is already swinging. Everything slows. I freeze. I know I should move. My body won't listen. Father is shouting. I can't hear the words.

The only thing I see is the blade. It's coming straight for my neck. I close my eyes. 

A hand slams into my shoulder. The force throws me sideways into the snow. I hit the ground hard. The air rushes from my lungs. For a heartbeat, all I can see is white.

I hear a squelching sound coming from my left. Father is standing where I was. The axe is buried deep between his shoulder and chest. His sword slips from his fingers.

"No!" I scream. The word leaves me before I realize I've spoken.

The warrior tries to pull the axe free. Father doesn't let him. With one last burst of strength, he grabs the haft with both hands, trapping the weapon in his own body.

Our soldiers reach them. The enemy falls beneath a dozen blades. I don't even see who kills him. I'm already crawling through the snow.

"Father." I cry out. Tears blurring my vision. 

He drops to one knee. Blood pours down the front of his armor. Bright against the white.

"No, no, no,” I sob, grabbing his arm. "We have to go."

He looks at me. Not at the wound or at the battle. At me.

"You're safe." His voice is strained.

"I don't care!" I yell, trying to pull him up. "Get up!"

He doesn't move.

"Please." I beg. 

Around us, the battle continues. It sounds far away now. Like it's happening in another world. 

"Medic!" I shout, whipping my head around wildly. 

Father lifts a shaking hand. He cups my cheek. His thumb brushes away tears I hadn't realized were falling.

"You did well." He breathes. 

"No." I sob. 

"You listened." He says with warmth. 

"I didn't." I cry, shaking my head. 

"You survived." His breathing catches. "That's enough."

"It isn't!" I shake my head violently. "You promised we'd finish my lessons."

A faint smile touches his lips. "I know."

"You promised." I sob. 

"I know." His hand slips from my face. I catch it before it falls.

"No." My voice cracks. "No, no, no..."

I pull at his shoulders. He doesn't move. "Please!"

Someone reaches for me. I shove them away. Another pair of hands grabs my arms. I fight. Kick. Scream.

"Let go!" I demand. My body thrases wildly. 

Father lies motionless in the snow. Blood spreads beneath him. His eyes remain open. Staring at the gray winter sky. I wrench free for half a second before more warriors seize me. I claw at the snow, trying to reach him.

"I have him, Princess," one of them says.

"No!" I sceam. 

"We have the King." The same guard says solemnly. 

"No!" I sob instead. 

They drag me backward. My fingers leave trails in the snow. The ice bites at my fingertips. I never stop reaching for him.

The last thing I see is my father's body lying where mine should have been.

~ Flashback ends ~

"I remember trying to pull him back up." I swallow. "I kept telling him to get up."

Roan lowers his eyes.

"I don't remember the ride home." I confess.  "Or most of the funeral." I let out a slow breath. "I remember the pyre."

His head lifts. "So do I."

I shake mine. "No, you remember a funeral." My eyes water. "I remember a sentence."

The words leave us in silence.

"Mother told everyone it was my privilege." I laugh bitterly. "'The child he died protecting will honor him.'"

I can still hear her voice. As if she were speaking of tradition instead of punishment.

"The clans called it an honor." I stare down at my hands. "They said no one else should light the fire." My fingers curl into my palms. "I didn't want to."

Roan's expression softens.

"I couldn't even look at him." My voice cracks. 

The image is burned into my mind. Father laid upon the timber. His armor cleaned. His hands folded over the hilt of his sword.

"He looked like he was sleeping." My voice catches. "I kept thinking if I waited long enough..." I shake my head. "...he would wake up."

The wind whistles across the balcony.

"Mother put the torch in my hands." I can still feel its weight. "I couldn't move." My throat tightens. "I just stood there."

Roan says nothing.

"Everyone was watching." I choke. "The generals, the warriors. The people Father had spent his life protecting."

I close my eyes.

"I remember Mother leaning down." Her voice is as clear now as it was then. "’Finish what you started.’"

My breath catches. "I didn't understand. Not then at least."

"I thought she meant..." I stop. "I thought she meant I was supposed to be brave." A tear slips down my cheek.

"It wasn't until later..." I look at Roan. "...that I realized she meant Father was already dead because of me."

Roan's face hardens. His right fist clenches by his side. 

"She made me light the pyre. I watched the flames catch. They spread through the wood, until I couldn't see him anymore." For years, I dreamed about that fire.

"I hated that everyone called it an honor." My voice is barely above a whisper. "It wasn't. It was punishment."

I blink away tears. "I wasn't saying goodbye to my father."

I stare out over the lights of Polis. "I was being taught that his blood was on my hands."

For a long moment, neither of us speaks. Then Roan quietly says, "I always thought Mother gave you that duty because Father chose you."

I shake my head. "So did I."

A bitter smile crosses my lips. "It took me years to understand." I look at him. "She didn't give me the honor. She gave me the guilt."

Roan's jaw clenches. "He died protecting you."

I nod my head. 

"He chose that." Roan places a hand on my shoulder. "You didn't kill him."

My eyes fill with tears. "I know."

The words come slowly.

"As War Chief..." I place a hand against my chest. "I know."

I look down at my trembling hands. "But there's still a part of the sixteen-year-old girl standing in front of that pyre..." I swallow hard."...who thinks if she'd just been faster… Father would have come home."

Roan pulls me to him. Tears run down my face silently. I see a single tear escape Roan’s eye but pretend not to notice. He kisses the top of my head, just like Father used to do. I shut my eyes. 

"She started training me as a spy when I was ten."

Roan's hand stops abruptly. "I knew she started you young."

"You didn't know how." I don't wait for him to answer. I step out of his embrace. 

I stare straight ahead. “The first lesson was obediance."

His brow furrows.

"She took me to the prison beneath the keep." I can still smell the damp stone. "There was a man chained to the wall."

Roan's expression slowly changes. "No..."

"She put a knife in my hand." The memory makes my stomach twist. "I wouldn't take it."

I laugh quietly. "I thought it was a test."

I close my eyes. "It was."

My voice drops. "She told me if I couldn't kill one prisoner..." I force the words out. "...I would never be strong enough to protect Azgeda."

Roan doesn't interrupt.

"I was ten." The wind whistles through the balcony. "When it was over..."

I look down at my hands. "I couldn't stop shaking."

My thumb rubs unconsciously across my palm. "I washed my hands until they bled."

Roan's eyes never leave me.

"I kept telling myself there was still blood on them."

He swallows hard. "Did Father know?"

I shake my head. "No."

"Why?" He sighs. 

"Because he would've stopped her."

"Good." He huffs. 

"No." I look at him. "He would've challenged her."

Understanding dawns across his face. "And they would've fought." He concludes. 

I nod. "I couldn't risk losing him."

A sad smile crosses my face.

"I was so afraid of getting him killed." The irony hangs between us. "He died protecting me anyway."

Neither of us speaks. For a long time, the only sound is the wind.

My brother tugs my forcefuylly back to his chest. 

"I can't change what she did." His voice is quiet. "I can't change what you lived through."

"No." I agree. 

"But..." He hesitates. "...you don't have to carry Father's death the way she made you carry it."

I look at him. I see my father's son. The weight feels a little lighter.

The wind carries the sounds of Polis up to the balcony, but they feel impossibly far away.

"I hated you for a while." Roan's admission is so quiet I almost miss it.

"I know." I say comfortingly. 

"I hated looking at you." He keeps his eyes on the city.

"Every time I did..." His jaw tightens."...I saw Mother lying on the stone."

I don't answer.

"I hated you because I hated myself more." His voice barely rises above a whisper. "You did what I never could." He looks down at his hands. "You saved my life... and I've hated myself ever since for letting you pay the price."

My throat tightens.

"I should've seen it." He growls. 

"You couldn't have." I assure him. 

"I was your brother, Y/N.” Roan argues. 

"You were a child, Roan.” I say. 

"So were you." He argues. 

The words hang between us. For the first time, neither of us has an answer. Roan steps closer until we're standing shoulder to shoulder against the railing.

"I used to be jealous," he says. 

I glance at him. "Of what?" I laugh. 

"Father." A sad smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "He always said you fought like him."

"He said I thought like him." I reminiscence with a small smile. 

"You did. And you still do.” He says, laughing softly.  "I wanted him to say that about me."

"He was proud of you too." I nudge his shoulder. 

"I know." He nods once. "I know that now."

Silence settles again.

Roan finally reaches over, not to pull me into an embrace, but to take my hand. His fingers close around mine.

"You don't have to believe Nia anymore." Roan says. 

I look down at our joined hands. For the first time since Father died, someone else is carrying the weight with me.

Neither of us says another word. We watch the city in silence.

Roan has always been my brother. He has always loved me. Nothing has ever changed that. Though after tonight, he finally understands why I have never been able to forgive myself.

A/N: This scene between Reader and Roan has been one of my favorites to write!!! Their relationship is so special to me and I finally wanted to unpack everything Reader went through at the hands of Nia. The flashback was especially painful to write but I’m so happy with how it turned out!

I ride a few lengths behind Lexa. She sits tall in her saddle. Clarke rides beside her. 

A wave of guilt washes over me. Had it not been for my mother’s wish to break from the Coalition, the Trikru army never would have been stationed outside of Skaikru’s camp. It seems even in her death, she still reeks of destruction. 

The forest abruptly gives way to a wide clearing. The remnants of the space station stick out horribly against the swaths of blue and green in the surrounding land. 

I give Faye a gentle nudge, guiding her alongside Clarke and Lexa.

A handful of men and women stand to meet us at the gate. Guns pointed at the ready. The rifle barrels glint in the afternoon light. 

Our escort doesn’t react. We come to a stop about fifty feet away from the main gates. The only sound is the wind brushing through the tall grass between us. 

The Commander nudges her horse forward. The move is small and deliberate. She stops several horse lengths ahead of the rest of us, sunlight catching the Commander symbol burned into her forehead.

Her voice carries easily across the clearing. "I am Lexa, Commander of the Coalition."

Silence answers. 

A dark-haired woman steps forward. She keeps her gun tight in her grip. “State your purpose!”

"I have come to speak with your Chancellor," Lexa replies coolly. The words drift across the open field. 

I watch as the guards look at one another. A request, not a demand. It seems they weren’t expecting diplomacy. And by the looks of my fellow warriors, neither were we. 

The heavy doors remain closed for several long moments. Then the gate groans as it opens. A man with a weathered expression steps out. A rifle hangs across his chest. Pike, I guess. He stops several yards from us, boots planted firmly in the dirt. Behind him, Bellamy steps into the sunlight.

For a heartbeat, his attention belongs only to Clarke. Relief softens the hard lines of his face. Then he notices me. Our eyes meet across the clearing. He eyes me with an unreadable expression. 

Duty had pulled us in opposite directions. Nothing has changed.

A woman I recognize as Abby pushes past Pike before anyone can stop her.

"Clarke!" She yells, relief evident on her face. 

Clarke is already sliding from her horse. She barely lands before Abby throws her arms around her.

Abby's shoulders shake as she buries her face against Clarke's hair. "I thought you were dead."

"I'm okay," Clarke assures. 

Abby pulls back just enough to cup her daughter's face. "No." Her voice cracks. "You're alive."

A small smile breaks across Clarke's face. "I'm alive."

The reunion hangs over the clearing like sunlight after a storm. Pike clears his throat. His gaze shifts from Clarke back to Lexa.

"Commander." The title carries no respect.

Lexa inclines her head. "Chancellor."

"What exactly are you doing outside my gates?" He snarls. 

"I came to prevent another war." She replies. 

A humorless laugh escapes Pike. "You should've thought about that before abandoning my people at Mount Weather."

The words strike like an arrow. My shoulders tense. Lexa remains perfectly still.

"I made a choice for my people," Lexa replies. 

"And mine paid the price." Bellamy's voice is quieter than Pike's.

Pike's gaze drifts from Lexa to me. It lingers on the blue-and-black crest embroidered across my cloak. Recognition flashes in his eyes. Then disgust. "And you brought an Azgeda princess into my camp."

The clearing goes still.

I meet his stare without flinching. "My title doesn't concern you."

"It concerns every person standing behind these walls." He takes a deliberate step forward. "Your people started the chain of events that destroyed Mount Weather."

The words hang in the air. A murmur spreads along the battlements overhead. Bellamy stiffens. I hold Pike's stare. He takes a slow step forward, boots crunching against the gravel.

"My people have done many things," I say slowly. 

His expression hardens. "One of your people blew up the damn mountain!"

Silence settles over the clearing after his outburst. Pike’s eyes burn into mine. "50 are dead." He pauses. “Families, our elderly, and our children.” He adds quietly. 

The memory flashes across Bellamy's face. Clarke lowers her eyes. I draw a slow breath.

His gaze burns into mine. "Everything that has happened began with Azgeda." The accusation hangs in the air.

I keep my voice level. "My mother made that choice."

"Your people murdered hundreds!” He shouts.

My jaw tightens. "And Mount Weather spent decades bleeding mine." The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.

Pike's eyes narrow. "So that's your justification?"

"No." I shake my head once. "It's the truth."

I glance toward Clarke, then Bellamy.

"The Mountain Men imprisoned Grounders for generations. They harvested our blood. Turned our people into Reapers. They butchered entire villages long before Skaikru ever came to Earth." My voice remains calm, but every word lands with purpose. "My mother sought revenge."

"She got it," Bellamy says quietly.

His voice carries more weight than Pike's shouting ever could. 

“And while I can try to understand her need for vengeance, I never would have sent out the order,” I say truthfully. 

Pike barks a humorless laugh. "Don't pretend that changes anything."

"I wasn't. My mother ordered it. And now she is dead," I sneer at the last sentence. 

Pike folds his arms across his chest. "But you wear her crest."

"I wear my people's crest." I correct. 

"They're the same thing." He argues. 

"No." The word comes sharper than intended. "My mother and Azgeda are not one and the same."

His jaw tightens. "You expect me to believe that?"

"I expect nothing from you." The breeze stirs between us, tugging at the fur lining my cloak. The heat beats down my back, but I refuse to remove it. 

"My mother believed fear kept people in line." I glance briefly toward Lexa. "I don't."

Pike scoffs. "That's convenient."

"It happens to be true."Bellamy's voice cuts through the silence.

I turn toward him, caught off guard. Of everyone standing here, he is the last person I expect to come to my defense.

"Echo followed Azgeda orders," he says. "She followed Queen Nia's orders." His gaze meets mine for only a moment before returning to Pike. "There's a difference."

Because he knows the distinction matters. Even if it doesn't make the dead any less dead.

Lexa steps forward, placing herself beside me. 

"Queen Nia is dead." She reiterates. Her calm voice cuts through the growing tension."The woman responsible for that attack no longer rules Azgeda."

Pike doesn't look convinced. "And now her daughter does?"

"I don't." The answer leaves my mouth before anyone else can speak. "My brother is King."

For the first time, Pike hesitates. His eyes narrow. "So why are you here?"

I meet his stare without flinching.

"Because if another war begins, it won't matter who destroyed Mount Weather." I gesture toward the walls surrounding Arkadia. "It will happen again."

The clearing falls silent. Because everyone standing there knows exactly what another war would cost.

Pike folds his arms across his chest. "So what happens now?"

Lexa's gaze never leaves him. 

"I came to Arkadia hoping this could end without further bloodshed." She replies calmly. 

"You've got a funny way of showing it." He sneers. 

"You murdered three hundred of my warriors," Lexa states. "They were waiting for the order to protect your people."

Pike scoffs. "They were waiting to invade."

"They were keeping the peace we negotiated." Lexa says calmly. 

"The only peace I trust is the kind I can defend myself." Pike snarls. 

Lexa studies him for a long moment before speaking again."I offered Skaikru a place in the Coalition. I offered peace between our people."

"And now?" He questions, fists clenching. 

"And now I have come to demand justice," Lexa informs. "I will ask only once." Her voice remains calm."Surrender Charles Pike, at the mercy of the  Coalition."

Every rifle along Arkadia's wall seems to tighten.

Pike laughs. "You think I'm handing myself over?"

"I know you are responsible for the deaths of three hundred Coalition warriors." She says. 

"They were my enemy." He says defensively. 

"They were your allies," Lexa corrects. 

Pike shakes his head. "They stopped being allies the moment they camped outside my walls."

Lexa inclines her head once. "Then you leave me no choice."

She turns slightly in her saddle."Luca." The Trikru scout steps forward. "Sound the horn."

A deep horn blast rolls through the forest. Another answers in the distance. Then another. The blockade had begun.

"No one enters," Lexa declares. "No one leaves."

"The blockade will remain until Charles Pike is surrendered to Coalition justice." Lexa states. 

Pike's jaw clenches. "You'll never have me."

Lexa's expression never changes. "That," she says quietly, "is now up to your people."

No one moves. The only sound is the breeze stirring the tall grass between us and the rhythmic stamping of restless horses.

Across the clearing, Bellamy stands beside Pike. His jaw is set.

A few weeks ago, he stood beside me in a cave, trusting me enough to hand me his back in a fight. We had escaped Mount Weather together. Bled together. Survived together.

Now there is an entire battlefield between us.

Our eyes meet for the briefest moment. His expression is impossible to read. Regret, resentment, duty. Perhaps all three. Whatever understanding had begun to form between us has been buried beneath politics, loyalty, and war. He belongs to Skaikru. I belong to Azgeda. Some distances cannot be crossed.

Lexa turns her horse without another word. "Our business here is finished." She declares. The Coalition escort follows immediately.

I linger for only a heartbeat longer. Bellamy is still watching. For a moment, I wonder if he's remembering our last conversation as clearly as I am. The silence between us says enough.

I turn Faye after Lexa. Behind us, the gates of Arkadia groan shut. The sound echoes through the clearing like the closing of a tomb. Ahead, the forest waits. Behind us, thousands of Coalition warriors begin taking their positions around the camp. Whatever fragile trust had existed between our people slipped a little further out of reach.

The Commander stands at the head of the table, one hand resting on the worn wood as she listens to Titus read through the latest reports from the ambassadors. Trade agreements. Border disputes. The tedious parts of leadership I have never had the patience for.

Roan stands opposite Lexa, his posture relaxed but attentive. Though the crown on his head is still new, he wears it as though it has always belonged there. Every so often, he asks a question or offers a suggestion, his voice calm and measured. It is strange hearing him speak as king instead of prince.

I remain at his side, arms folded across my chest. My eyes wander from the map to the windows overlooking Polis before settling on the carved wolf marking Azgeda's territory.

Titus unrolls another parchment. A request of some sorts from Podakru.

The afternoon meeting is interrupted by frantic footsteps pounding through the tower. The doors to the war room fly open. A young Trikru scout stumbles inside, nearly collapsing as he drops to one knee.

"Commander." He pants. 

Lexa immediately looks up from the map spread across the stone table.

"What happened?" She barks. 

"The army outside Arkadia." His voice catches," has been attacked."

The room falls silent. Roan straightens beside me.

"What do you mean, attacked?" She questions. 

The scout lowers his head. "It seems there are no survivors." He informs still catching his breath. 

Lexa doesn't ask another question.

"Ready my horse." She commands.

The scout bows and hurries from the room. Titus follows to alert the guard. Within moments, only Lexa, Roan, and I remain.

"I'll gather my warriors," Roan says.

Lexa shakes her head. "No."

He frowns.

"If three hundred Trikru warriors have fallen, you may need every clan." He continues. 

"You are needed here." Lexa orders. 

Roan's jaw tightens. "I've been king less than a week."

"Exactly." She says. 

Lexa steps closer.

"Azgeda has accepted your crown, but not everyone has accepted your rule. If you leave Polis now, others may see an opportunity."

He doesn't argue. Because he knows she's right. Lexa turns to me.

"I want you to ride with me." She says. 

I nod without hesitation.

"When do we leave?" I ask. 

"Immediately."

The ride is almost entirely silent. Lexa leads, I follow behind her. A third rider joins us before we leave the city gates, Clarke. She says nothing as she falls into step beside us. A few of Lexa’s guards take the rear. 

The farther north we ride, the quieter the forest becomes. No birds. No insects. Only the sound of horses pushing through the trees. The smell hits us first. The unmistakeble smell of blood and death. 

Lexa pulls her horse to a stop. I follow.

The clearing stretches before us. Bodies, hundreds of them. Grounder warriors lie exactly where they slept. Blankets stained crimson. Swords still sheathed. Some never even woke.

My stomach turns.

Three hundred warriors. Executed.

Lexa dismounts without a word. Clarke follows. I take a deep breath and dismount.The only sounds are boots against frozen earth. A weak groan cuts through the silence.

"There." Clarke points. 

Lexa is already moving.

Indra leans against a fallen log, one hand pressed tightly against a wound in her side. Blood covers her armor. She looks up as Lexa kneels beside her.

"Commander." Indra breathes. 

"You survived." Lexa states 

"Barely." Indra says with a grimace. 

Lexa grips her forearm. "What happened?" She gruffs out. 

Indra's eyes sweep across the dead surrounding us. "They came before dawn." Her voice is hoarse. "My warriors were asleep." She closes her eyes. "They never had a chance."

Clarke's face pales.

"Who?" She whispers. 

Indra looks directly at her. "Skaikru."

The word hangs in the air.

"They fired into the camp while my people slept." She swallows. "There was no warning. No battle, only slaughter."

I stare across the clearing. Three hundred Coalition warriors. Gone.

Images flash through my mind. Bellamy fighting beside me beneath Mount Weather. Bellamy watching me ride away as I left for Polis. I push them down before they can take hold. No. The man I’ve come to know couldn’t do this. Could he?

Lexa slowly rises to her feet. Her eyes remain fixed on the field of the dead. Then she speaks. "We ride for Arkadia."

There is no anger in her voice. No grief. Only resolve.

No one moves. For a long moment, we simply stand among the dead.

The wind stirs the banners scattered across the camp, carrying with it the metallic scent of blood. Fires that should have been warming sleeping warriors have burned down to smoldering embers. Bowls of untouched stew lie overturned in the dirt. Shields remain stacked where they had been set the night before.

They hadn't expected a battle. They had expected dawn.

Lexa finally breaks the silence.

"Search the camp." Her voice is calm. "If anyone still lives, find them."

The guards immediately scatter.

Clarke kneels beside one of the fallen Trikru warriors, checking for any sign of life before slowly closing his eyes.

I walk farther into the camp. The deeper I go, the worse it becomes.

Some bodies are tangled in blankets. Others lie facedown where they had tried to flee. Most never made it more than a few steps.

I stop beside a young warrior. He can't be much older than sixteen. His sword is still strapped to his side, untouched. I crouch beside him. For a moment, I simply stare. Then I reach out and close his eyes. "Yu gonplei ste odon," I murmur.

The words disappear into the silence. There are too many. 300 names and faces and no prayer can carry all of them. 

Behind me, Indra forces herself to sit straighter. Lexa kneels once more at her side.

"Tell me everything."

Indra's breathing is labored. "They struck before first light." Her gaze remains fixed on the bodies surrounding us. "My sentries never sounded the alarm. By the time we woke..." She trails off. "It was already over."

Clarke swallows. "It was Pike?"

Indra nods once. "Pike gave the order." She looks toward Clarke.  "But he wasn't alone."

The words send a chill through me.

"There were Skaikru soldiers." Indra continues. 

Clarke's shoulders stiffen.

Indra closes her eyes for a brief moment before opening them again. "And Bellamy Blake."

The world seems to stop. My breath catches. 

The man I knew fought to save lives. The man Indra speaks of ended them. I don't know which one is real anymore.

Lexa rises to her feet. Her expression is unreadable.

"Send riders to Polis." She orders. 

One of her guards steps forward.

"Tell them to prepare funeral rites for three hundred warriors."

The guard bows. "Yes, Commander."

Lexa looks across the clearing one final time. "So much death." Her voice is barely above a whisper. Then she turns toward Clarke. "Arkadia will answer for this."

Clarke lowers her head. "They will." She says looking at the fallen. 

I cannot tell whether she believes it.

Lexa mounts her horse. "I will demand Pike." She states. 

"And if they refuse?" I ask.

For the first time since we arrived, Lexa meets my eyes.

"Then they will force the Coalition to decide what comes next."

No one speaks after that. One by one, we mount our horses.

As we ride from the clearing, I glance back over my shoulder. Three hundred warriors remain where they fell, waiting to be carried home. My thoughts drift to Bellamy. The man beneath Mount Weather had stood beside me against impossible odds. Now I ride toward Arkadia to face a man I no longer recognize.

I stand beside him through every meeting, watching ambassadors test him in ways they never dared test our mother. He never raises his voice. He never resorts to threats. Instead, he listens. Then he speaks. It's strange. For the first time in years, I don't feel like I'm waiting for someone to die.

By midday, I've had enough politics.

I make my way toward the training yard, hoping to clear my head. The sound of steel striking steel reaches me long before I arrive.

Echo stands in the center of the yard, effortlessly disarming another Azgeda warrior. His sword clatters across the dirt.

She doesn't even look impressed.

"Again," she orders.

The warrior mutters something under his breath as he retrieves his weapon. When Echo notices me, she raises an eyebrow.

"I was wondering when you'd escape." She jokes. "I was beginning to think council meetings were more painful than combat."

"They are." I groan. 

Echo tosses me a practice sword.

"Then stop complaining." She says. 

I catch it easily.

"You're challenging me?" I question, raising a brow. 

"I'm trying to improve your mood." She corrects. 

"By hitting me?" I question while my lip quirks up.

She smirks. "It usually works."

We circle one another. The first strike comes from me. She blocks it with ease. I shove her backward.

"There you are," Echo says with a grin.

"What?" I ask.

"That look." She states

"What look?" I huff in annoyance.

"The one that says you're about to hit me harder." She says with a laugh. 

"I was trying to," I grunt out. 

"I know." She twirls the practice sword through her fingers.

"These last few days have been... strange."

I lower my blade.

"They have." I agree. 

"You keep looking over your shoulder," she states. 

I frown.

"I do not," I argue. 

"You do." Echo insists. 

She steps closer.

"You spent years waiting for Queen Nia to change her mind. Waiting for her to turn on Roan... or on you." She says. 

I don't answer.

"There isn't another order coming," she says quietly. "There isn't another punishment waiting."

My grip tightens around the hilt. Echo studies me for a long moment.

"You don't have to be ready for a fight every second anymore." She says. 

A dry laugh leaves me.

"I'm a warrior, Echo," I say. It’s in my blood to be ready to fight at any given moment. 

"So am I." She says. She gestures around the training yard. "But this..."

Her voice softens. “This feels different."

I follow her gaze across the courtyard. Roan walks with two advisers at his side. One speaks while the other gestures toward a map. Roan doesn't interrupt. He listens. Actually listens.

"I've spent my whole life protecting him," I say quietly.

Echo nods.

"And now?" she prompts.

I watch my brother disappear into the Tower.

"Now I help him protect Azgeda." I finish. 

A small smile tugs at Echo's lips.

"I think your father would be proud." She says. 

The words catch me off guard. A smile finds its way onto my face.

"So do I." I respond. 

Later that afternoon, I find myself wandering through one of Polis' gardens. It's quiet. Almost unnervingly so.

Clarke sits beneath a tree, absentmindedly rolling a small flower between her fingers. She notices me before I can turn away.

"I didn't think you liked gardens," she calls.

"I don't," I reply. I much prefer the cold. Snow doesn't ask anything of you. It doesn't pretend to be kind. It simply demands that you survive.

She smiles. "Then why are you here?" she asks. 

"I got lost," I say offhandedly. 

She laughs.

"I don't believe you," Clarke states. 

"You shouldn't," I say with a smirk. 

For a moment, we simply stand there.

"You've been staying close to Lexa," I say.

Clarke's shoulders tense ever so slightly. "I have." She says, finally. 

"You trust her." I guess. 

She considers the question before answering.

"I trust that she's trying." Clarke corrects. 

I fold my arms.

"That's not the same thing," I tell her. 

"No." She looks out over Polis. "But sometimes it's enough."

I think about Roan. About Echo. About Bellamy. About Mount Weather. About my mother. Maybe she's right. Maybe trying is all any of us can do.

—

As I'm making my way back toward the Tower, I spot Kane standing alone on one of the balconies overlooking Polis.

So much for finding a moment to myself. 

He notices me almost immediately.

"Princess." Kane greets.

"Chancellor." I nod in response. 

"I wanted to thank you."

I stop beside him.

"For what?" I question skeptically. 

"For giving the Coalition another chance." He clarifies. 

I rest my forearms on the stone railing.

"I didn't do it for the Coalition," I tell him.

"No." He nods knowingly. "You did it for your brother."

I don't argue. He's right.

Below us, merchants haggle in the market while children weave between crowded stalls. Warriors from different clans pass each other without reaching for their weapons. It's peaceful for now.

"I hear Lexa intends to make Skaikru the Thirteenth Clan," I say, despite having been in the room when she announced it.

Kane nods.

"I hope she does." He says. 

"You really think it'll work?" I question. 

"I think it has to." He says honestly. 

I study him for a moment.

"You sound certain," I state. 

A small smile crosses his face.

"I'm hopeful." He corrects. 

I let out a quiet breath.

"Hope gets people killed," I murmur. 

Kane turns to face me.

"So does fear, Your Highness." He says. 

I stiffen at the title. I've never cared much for Princess. I hate Your Highness even more. I've always been more comfortable as Chief than royalty.

Kane notices my expression. A knowing smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"I'll leave you to your thoughts." He says. 

He inclines his head before walking away.

I rest my hands on the railing once more, watching Polis carry on beneath me. Merchants barter. Children laugh. Life continues.

As I watch the city move through another ordinary afternoon, I can't help but wonder which will win in the end, hope or fear.