Chapter Text
The soft knock on the door came just as the last golden strand of daylight slipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the stone walls of the Griffin estate. Clarke sat at the window, sketching the fading light with hurried strokes, her charcoal smudged at the tips of her fingers. The drawing was nothing special, just the same hills and trees she’d seen every day of her life. But tonight, it felt like she was saying goodbye.
“Clarke?” Her mother’s voice was quiet, but there was something in it that made Clarke set the charcoal down.
“In here,” she called, though she already knew. Something was coming. She’d felt it all day, like a storm pressing against her chest.
Abby Griffin entered the room with her hands folded in front of her, her mouth pressed into a tight line. She looked like she did before delivering bad news in the clinic—measured, calm, and already bracing for the fight.
“What is it?” Clarke asked, her back straightening. “Who’s sick?”
Abby sat on the edge of Clarke’s bed instead of answering. That was when Clarke knew: it wasn’t medical. It was worse.
“The Chancellor came by this afternoon,” Abby began. “He’s made a decision. One he believes will benefit Arkadia and secure our future among the Coalition.”
Clarke’s heart sank. “What does that have to do with me?”
Abby hesitated. “Lexa, Commander of the Thirteen Clans, has announced she is searching for a wife. A diplomatic match, to strengthen alliances. Each allied territory is sending someone. The Chancellor… has chosen you to represent Arkadia.”
The words hit Clarke like ice water. She stood abruptly, the stool beneath her toppling with a clatter. “No.”
“Clarke-”
“No, Mom. You can’t just tell me I’m being sent to be paraded in front of her like… like livestock.” Her voice cracked with disbelief and fury. “I’m not doing it.”
Abby’s eyes were full of something between sorrow and resolve. “You are doing it. It’s not just about you, Clarke. It’s about keeping peace. We’re already walking a thin line with the Commander. This is bigger than any one person.”
“I’m not a peace offering.” Clarke turned away, pacing now. Her fingers clenched into fists. “I’ve heard the stories about her. Lexa of the Woods Clan. Ruthless. Cold. People disappear in Polis and they don’t come back.”
“She’s not a monster,” Abby said gently. “And from what I’ve heard… she values strength. Intelligence. Honor.”
“Oh, great,” Clarke scoffed. “So maybe if I impress her, I’ll get the honor of marrying a warlord.”
Abby stood too, her tone shifting. “This isn’t something we have a choice in. The Chancellor has spoken. You leave for Polis at first light.”
Clarke turned to face her mother, eyes burning. “You agreed to this.”
“I tried to fight it,” Abby said quietly. “But I couldn’t. At least you won’t be alone. Raven and Octavia will go with you as your attendants. They’ll watch your back. Bellamy will go to protect you.”
Clarke sank down onto the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted. Her mind reeled with thoughts of Polis, of being forced to bow and smile and possibly wed someone she’d never met. Someone she didn’t trust. Someone she might never love.
“What if I say something wrong? What if she doesn’t like me?”
Abby knelt in front of her, reaching to cup Clarke’s face in her hands. “Then you come home. But you’re strong, Clarke. Stronger than you know. And this isn’t the end. It’s just the beginning of something we can’t see yet.”
Clarke didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
All she knew was that the life she’d built here—the sketches, the books, the long talks with Raven, the sword lessons with Octavia—would be gone by morning. And in its place would be the polished stone halls of Polis, and the cold, unreadable eyes of the Commander.
Lexa.
A stranger. A sovereign. A potential wife.
Clarke didn’t sleep that night.
—
The estate was silent by the time Clarke slipped out of her chambers, the hem of her cloak whispering against the stone floor. Candles had long since been extinguished, and the guards were light tonight—everyone trusting that a highborn daughter wouldn’t run. At least, not before dawn.
Clarke moved like a shadow, past the great hall, down the narrow servant stairs, and into the cool earth-scented dark of the wine cellar.
He was already there.
Finn stood leaning against the old wooden shelf where they used to meet when they were younger, back when their lives had seemed like their own. A single lantern flickered between them, painting his face in amber and shadow. He looked like he hadn’t slept either.
“You came,” he said quietly, not smiling.
Clarke stepped into the small circle of light, her breath tight in her chest. “Of course I came.”
Finn looked at her, really looked. “I thought maybe you wouldn’t. Maybe you’d already left.”
“You know I couldn’t do that.”
A silence stretched between them, familiar and aching.
“So it’s real,” he said. “You’re going to Polis.”
Clarke nodded, her jaw tight. “They’re sending me at dawn.”
Finn’s lips pressed into a thin line, like he wanted to protest but had already spent his outrage hours ago. “To the Commander. As a wife.”
“Contender,” Clarke corrected bitterly. “Not that it matters. It’s still a cage.”
He stepped forward then, reaching out to cup the side of her face. His touch was warm, grounding.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he said, voice rough. “I’ve already lost too much.”
Clarke closed her eyes, leaning into the comfort for just a moment. “You won’t. I’ll come back. I swear it.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” she said fiercely, gripping his wrist. “No matter what happens, no matter what they ask of me, I’ll find a way. I’ll come home.”
Finn studied her face, like he was trying to memorize every part of it. He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
“You could make a difference there, Clarke,” he said. “With her. With them. You’ve always been better at this than you think.”
“I’m not going there to make friends.”
“I know,” he said. “But maybe… maybe don’t close yourself off completely. This is an opportunity. One I’d take, if I were you.”
Her breath caught. “You’re letting me go.”
“I have to,” he said softly. “Because you’re meant for more than what I can give you. More than stolen nights and secret promises.”
Clarke felt the tears sting before she could stop them. She pulled him into a desperate kiss—quiet, lingering, and filled with everything they couldn’t say aloud.
When she pulled back, she whispered, “I’ll come back.”
Finn rested his forehead against hers. “Then go. Before I change my mind.”
Clarke turned away before he could see her fall apart.
By the time she reached her chambers again, the horizon was already starting to pale.
Tomorrow, the road to Polis would open.
—
The sun had barely crested the hills when the estate courtyard came alive with quiet motion. The rover stood at the center, weathered from years of use, but strong and ready. Supplies were being tied down in the back, saddle packs and trunks filled with everything Clarke might need for her uncertain stay in Polis: gowns she hadn’t picked, scrolls she hadn’t read, and a future she hadn’t asked for.
Clarke fastened the last leather strap on a chest and stepped back, wiping her hands on her cloak. Raven was perched on the rear bumper, tightening a panel with a wrench, her dark eyes flicking over Clarke without a word. Octavia, already dressed in her leathers, was strapping a long dagger to her thigh.
“I still think you should’ve let me sneak a knife into your boots,” Octavia muttered, checking the tension on the strap. “Just in case that Commander gets any ideas.”
“Abby already checked my boots twice,” Clarke replied with a dry smile. “She knows me too well.”
“She doesn’t know me,” Octavia smirked, pulling another blade from her belt. “So I packed a few extras.”
Bellamy sat in the driver’s seat, arms crossed, watching the exchange with a careful eye. He said nothing, but his jaw was tight, like he was biting down every opinion he had about this entire mission.
Clarke was grateful. She didn’t have the strength to argue again.
Footsteps approached from behind, and Clarke turned to see her mother crossing the courtyard, her cloak wrapped tightly against the morning chill. Abby’s face was drawn, but calm. She stopped just in front of Clarke, taking her in with a thousand thoughts behind her eyes.
“I thought I’d say goodbye before you disappeared on me,” she said.
Clarke’s throat tightened. “You already said everything last night.”
Abby shook her head, brushing a hand against Clarke’s cheek before pressing a kiss to her temple. “Not everything.”
She pulled back, eyes shining. “You’re doing something brave, Clarke. Bigger than any of us. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but someday you’ll look back and see the difference you made.”
“I’m not trying to make a difference,” Clarke said softly. “I’m just trying to survive it.”
Abby smiled, sad but proud. “Then survive. And do good, where you can. That’s all I ask.”
Clarke nodded, her heart a knot she couldn’t untangle. “I’ll try.”
Abby stepped back, hands falling to her sides, not quite ready to let go. But she did. “I’ll be waiting.”
Clarke climbed into the backseat beside Octavia, the door creaking as she shut it behind her. Raven tossed her wrench into a pack and slid in next to her.
Bellamy glanced back once, just long enough to meet Clarke’s eyes. “Ready?”
No. But she said, “Drive.”
The engine roared to life, and the gravel cracked beneath the tires as the rover rolled forward, away from the estate, away from the only life Clarke had ever known.
The morning sun warmed the sky in golds and reds, and the road stretched ahead—toward Polis, toward the Commander, toward everything that waited in silence.
Clarke didn’t look back. Not because she wasn’t scared.
But because if she did, she might not be able to keep going.
—
The forest blurred past in greens and browns, the road winding like a ribbon through the trees. Eight hours from Arkadia to Polis, and they were only halfway there.
The rover rumbled steadily along the cracked old path, Bellamy’s hands firm on the wheel, his silence serving as a wall between the front and back seats. Every so often, he would glance into the rearview mirror, but he never joined the conversation.
In the back, Clarke had her boots up on a crate, arms folded across her chest, the wind tugging loose strands of hair from her braid. Raven was beside her, fiddling with a small piece of tech she’d yanked from the dashboard hours ago—either out of boredom or disdain.
Octavia leaned forward between them, her voice rising above the hum of the engine.
“I’m just saying,” she said, gesturing animatedly with one hand. “You’re acting like this is a funeral. You’re not marching to your death, Clarke. You’re walking into the most powerful seat in the Coalition. That’s not a curse, it’s an opportunity.”
Clarke rolled her eyes. “An opportunity to be paraded in front of someone who could kill me with one word.”
Octavia raised an eyebrow. “And you don’t think you can handle her?”
“I didn’t say that.” Clarke’s jaw tightened. “But I’m not exactly thrilled about the whole auctioned-off-to-a-warlord part.”
“She’s not a warlord,” Octavia said.
“She literally commands an army,” Raven muttered without looking up from the circuit in her lap. “Wears war paint. Gives death glares. I’m with Clarke. This is nonsense.”
Octavia huffed. “You two are so dramatic.”
“No, we’re realistic,” Raven shot back. “This isn’t a storybook. It’s politics. Brutal, manipulative politics. Clarke gets chosen, she’s tied to Polis for life. She doesn’t get chosen, and who knows what happens back home. Either way, Arkadia wins. We lose.”
Clarke stayed quiet, staring out at the forest. It was easier than answering. Easier than admitting she didn’t know which outcome terrified her more.
Octavia sat back with a sigh. “I’m not saying it’s fair. But it’s happening. And if it has to happen, I’d rather it be you than someone who can’t hold their own.”
Clarke glanced at her. “Thanks?”
“It was a compliment,” Octavia said, smirking. “Backhanded, maybe.”
“I just don’t want to play dress-up for a leader who might have my head chopped off if I use the wrong fork.”
“She’s not going to kill you over cutlery,” Raven said. “Probably.”
Clarke shot her a look. “Comforting.”
Raven grinned. “That’s what I’m here for.”
They fell into silence again, but this one felt lighter, edged with the familiarity of shared sarcasm and old loyalty. Clarke let her head rest against the window, watching the sun slant through the trees.
Polis still felt like a looming shadow in the distance. But with Raven and Octavia beside her, and Bellamy driving like he intended to outrun the end of the world, she could almost forget, for a moment, that she was heading straight into the center of it.
Almost.