Summary: Princess Clarke of Arkadia is kidnapped by mercenaries while on a visit to one of the kingdom’s cities. Her abductors treat her well enough, but everything becomes more complicated when their client orders them to execute her.
Lexa thought this was just another job. High risk, high pay. But when push comes to shove, will she betray her orders or her heart?
***
Chapter 1: Kidnapping
The rain fell on the windows with lazy regularity, drawing random patterns on the glass. Her Royal Highness Princess Clarke, the oldest daughter of King Jacob and Queen Abigail, stood behind it, face turned toward the outside to admire the old city’s architecture.
Contrary to the capital, a modern and fast-paced urban center peppered with prestigious hotels and tech companies, Reim offered a quieter, more human-sized environment. Several parks invited families and young couples to relax during the warmer months, and cruises on the canal traversing the city from west to east delighted both locals and tourists. However, the Princess’s favorite attraction remained the Art Museum, an imposing neo-Gothic building hosting the largest collection of paintings and sculptures in Arkadia.
Freeing two hours between her speech at a newly opened hospital in the morning and her visit to the orphanage in the afternoon had required some juggling and careful planning. But the “Nature” exhibit alone—soon set to leave for the Louvre—was well worth the trouble. It was merely unfortunate the rain started while she admired the earthy-toned pieces and that the museum’s parking lot was located outside.
“Would you like to remain here longer, Your Highness? The rain might yet abate.”
One that threatens the bare spindles of a long dead port. The wind bites at stilts gnarled by sea salt and the negligence of time, threads of frayed twine whipping in retaliating lashes against the onslaught versus sturdy grecian wood.
Lexa watches from on high, eyes on mastheads and white sails in the distance when she takes a moment to admire her only non-hissing companion, the sea. She stands an eagle in her nest of serpentine thorns, as the speck of a sailor draws near from the horizon, boat marching on the back of winds that carry it onward. The ocean howls of intruders long before they arrive, the swishing churn of embattled rip tides announcing the threat among rustled gusts and spits of algae foam.
It's all become so painfully predictable.
Lexa sighs at the sight of them marching on toward her fortress.
A sinking weight floods her stomach, weary resignation presses heavy against her throat.
The grip of her spade tightens as she reminds herself they mean nothing to her morning, to her schedule, that must be kept. What with the chill slipping through the cracks of a waning afternoon sun setting quick on the intruder's horizon.
She doesn't bother to watch their approach further, instead keeping her thoughts to steady hands that churn earth and crumble stone, driving her blade against charcoal and turning it to soot. She checks her moorings to the west and fells a few fresh saplings for kindling. Nuisances in that particular corner of her nest of thorns, ones she's been waging a losing battle with for ages.
Her thoughts scatter like the seed and silt that pour through the calloused cracks of her fingers, wondering—
A sharp whine fills the air below, followed by a screech and crash of splintering wood. A thunderous boom echoes along the rockside loud enough to shake the very gravel under her feet followed by a full chested bellow.
"Gods damn it all!"
Lexa straightens from her work at the cry of anger, loud enough to have her dropping her tools where she stands. Loud enough to send a shiver across her scalp that hisses and spits its welcome in return.
She slips past brambles and thickets of overgrowth. Moves between boulders and shrugging aside the hang of vine, winding her way to the edge of her oasis. The sweet scent of honeysuckle mixes with sea water as she moves close to the rocky ledge of the cliff shore.
Careful to stay hidden, tucked neatly in the shadows, she lifts a few leaves on the tips of her finger to see her would be… captors…
Or. Captor.
The waters are littered with floating bits of dock and warped wood, now useless and broken into a thousand tiny shards that bob their way back out into the wild.
In its place is a boat.
A rather meager boat, Lexa notes to herself at the feel of a nose nudging her cheek. A vessel of one lonely single seat, barely a rod for a mast, with two matching oars on each side.
The very sight of its paltry build makes her frown. Her lips drop open shock as she looks past the debris of the wreckage to the fleeing white sails receding into the burgeoning twilight distance.
Another screeched caw from a circling bird above makes Lexa jump, ignoring the snap and hiss in her ear at the same time the air fills with a strained, "Oh shut up!"
Well.
This is certainly not what she had expected.
Because…
She's blonde.
Her apparent assassin is… blonde.
And decidedly less muscular than she'd become accustomed to. Not the type bearing rippling muscles, or the thuggish brawn born of beating one's own chest.
This assassin is downright… dainty.
Dressed in a simple white shift in place of the bronze and pounded silver chest plate that Lexa is used to, stands a woman with sun laden ribbons of spun gold hair, bare of the usual swords and shield expected of such a journey and instead grasping a rather pathetic looking stick. Her face is cloaked in a curtain of wispy strands of gold, darkened by sea spray and the looming cliffs above as she fiddles with a satchel tied to her hip. She tussles with the strings, fingers awkward as she struggles to keep hold of the long spindle stick while fighting a losing battle with a knot that ignores her angered muttering.
Lexa watches from the safety of the shadow's edge as the intruder goes about her various tasks. She watches her reach out and smack the end of the stick in her hand along the ground in sweeping thunks. Watches her do a slow sort of pirouette, a kind of turn here and there as she taps each stone and rock around her in a series of dull clicks. Her steps seem timid, calculated in the way they shuffle and pause and then go again, as her head twists slightly at every creak of the trees that bend toward the skyline, every crash of the tide, every chirp of a bird that follows.
She watches the woman zigzag a line away from the wreckage of splintered wood and sails, weaving her way in measured footsteps and the incessant tapping of her stick.
Lexa glances toward the two beady eyes staring at her and gives an equally mystified shrug.
It's only when she comes close, dangerously close to the ridge cut in the cliff face that leads to the well worn path inland that Lexa finally finds her voice.
"Who are you?"
The peculiar tapping stops on the sharp cut of a startled scream. "Hades in hell!"
The hand not brandishing the stick clutches at her chest as she takes a half spin, the stick coming up in a wild arch like a sword apparently ready to slice the air in battle.
Lexa frowns from the safety of her shadowed nook at the ridiculous display below. "If you wish to keep your life, turn back. Now."
The woman makes another half turn in her direction, face lifted and eyes screwed shut. "Where are you? This place is like an amphitheater."
"Your search is in vain! I said—"
"Give me a left or right, lady," she cuts her off impatiently, the stick shaking but still held vaguely menacingly aloft. "Clap or something so I at least know I'm not talking to a tree."
"Leave," Lexa booms with all the might of her weary bones, feeling her words reverberate against the stone embankment and echo into her chest. Power courses through her as she watches her idiotic, would-be killer startle and stumble back… only to right herself and throw her hands up in a huff.
"Fine! I'll just shout at whatever, since apparently that's what you do here!" The stranger slams the stick down on its point, burying it deep into the sand and leans her weight against it, wobbling only slightly with a heaving sigh. "Listen. Just relax a minute and listen to me."
Only the crashing waves and panting drags of her breath echoes in the silence.
"Alright," she says as Lexa seethes and looks on. "My name is Clarke. I'm not… one hundred percent sure where I am, but if I am where I should be, I need you to know that I was sent here by my people, okay? I didn't choose to be here—"
"That does not matter!"
"I know that!" this woman, this Clarke, snaps right back. "I know you're pissed, you've made that abundantly clear, but what I'm saying is, whatever you think I'm here to do, believe me when I say, I am not."
"I think you're here to kill me," Lexa says in all but a growl.
Clarke throws the arm she's not leaning on into the air. "Then it's a wonderful thing we're having this chat, because I'm not."
Lexa's jaw aches with how hard she grits her teeth at the snark soaked rebuttal. "Then what are you here for?"
"I already said I didn't have a choice. I was just shipped off here and told to—." Lexa watches the woman swallow down the rest of her words, blonde hair swaying with the shake of her head. "Look, it doesn't matter what I was told to do. I'm not interested in fighting anyone else's battles right now. All I plan to do is squat here for a few weeks, work on my tan, fix my gods forsaken boat, and get out of your hair… Or uh, not your— The, with the— I'm assuming, if you are— If you're —"
"Why shouldn't I strike you down where you stand?" Lexa calls over the pathetic bumbling of the woman below. "I stay to the shadows for your safety, grace you with an opportunity to flee for your life. Why should I not step forward and let you see the face of your end?"
All Clarke does is snort. "Yeah, good luck with that."
Fingernails digging into the weathered bark of the tree does nothing to soothe the surge of anger that rises in Lexa's chest. She watches as the stranger seems to sigh to herself. The stick gets yanked from where it'd been buried in the sand and shook off.
And then the damn tapping starts again.
"What is that you are doing?" Lexa calls in a huff.
The woman flops a careless hand in her general direction as she calls back, "Playing a real fun game called trying to not break my neck. You can't tell?" and taps the stick against a hip sized boulder along its side and up the top, and then moves on to it's sister to the right in a few series of clicks.
Lexa watches her repeat this process several times over, wandering in short bursts until finding another object of interest before starting the process all over. She watches that face turn up, eyes still shut tight, pausing and leaning and listening to every roll of the waves, every rustle of wind, every minute chirp of birds.
It's only when a head butts her temple and black beady eyes slip closed and stay closed, when the tip of Clarke's stick finds the gnarled roots of an upended tree and the woman chances a feel with her hands along the rough bark that it all finally makes sense.
"You're blind."
She says it more to herself than anyone, long since used to the lack of audience that can talk back, but the astute observation still earns her laugh. One topped with a tired smile from that unseeing face as she eases down onto the overturned tree for a rest.
Worked out what I was doing wrong (ok, I didn't, but the very talented @thecrimsonknight who made it did
Chapter 7 is up (but you know that already)
This is one of my Clexaweek23 entries (final chapter back from my legendary beta Shalli yesterday). Even better, tonight I'll be uploading my Clexaweek24 submission!
Here are the themes that won for the upcoming Clexaweek23! If you would like to participate, just create something (write a fic, draw some art, make a moodboard, a video edit, you name it!) that somehow involves that particular theme. Whether you create or not, please participate by supporting each other! :) Reblog posts instead of just liking, and leave nice comments on content!
Day 1: Monday, February 27th - Childhood Friends
Clarke and Lexa were friends as children! Example: maybe Clarke and Lexa have been glued at the hip since they were five years old. They went to school together, then college, and now they have an apartment together. They don’t really understand why everyone assumes they’re dating; or why they seem to get so jealous when the other person IS dating. Maybe Clexa were best friends in elementary school, until Lexa moved away. Now they’re in their thirties, Clarke is a divorced single mother, and she’s shocked when she realized that her kid’s teacher is none other than her childhood best friend. Maybe Lexa had a very difficult childhood and Clarke was the first friend she ever made, until Lexa was forced to move away; years later, they meet again in a support group, both having lost their partners. Maybe they were best friends until a falling out in middle school; awkward moment when they realize they’re roommates!
Day 2: Tuesday, February 28th - Secret Relationship
Lexa and Clarke in a secret relationship with each other. Examples: Are Clexa rivals in public but besotted behind closed doors? Is Clarke secretly dating her best friend’s sister which is totally off-limits? Is Lexa hiding the fact that she’s been dating her ex’s ex? Is Clarke secretly dating her best friend’s worst enemy?
Day 3: Wednesday, March 1st - Fake Dating
The opposite of day 2! Clarke and Lexa are pretending to date. Examples: Maybe Lexa desperately needs a date to bring home for the holidays to get her mom off her back, so who better to ask than the cute girl she keeps running into at her favorite coffee shop? Maybe Clarke needs some temporary arm-candy to make an ex jealous! Maybe Clarke is trying to impress a boss who seems to only want to hang outside of work with a couples’ date, so she convinces Lexa to pretend to be her girlfriend and come out to dinner with her unbearable boss because she REALLY needs that promotion!
Day 4: Thursday, March 2nd - Accidents Happen!
I put together Accidental Kiss and Accidental marriage/relationship since they’re so close together. Bottom line is Clexa accidentally do SOMETHING. Maybe they’re rivals on the same sports team and are so swept up in the euphoria of their win that they kiss right there on the field! Or maybe they’re strangers who wake up in Vegas and are horrified to realize they’re married. Maybe Lexa’s wife left her at the alter because she claims Lexa will never love her as much as she loves someone else. A devastated Lexa has no idea what she means, but she already paid for the honeymoon so why not take her best friend Clarke with her? Except oops, in the morning they wake up hungover and naked and the ring Lexa had bought Costia is on Clarke’s finger. Maybe Clexa are just fuck buddies, friends with benefits - except one day they realize oops, it’s been ten months and I have my own drawer space at your place and my own toothbrush and shit are we dating, are we living together??
Day 5: Friday, March 3rd - Friends or foes?
Both Enemies to Lovers and Friends to Lovers tied, so what does that mean? We do both! You can choose to use one of these, or do both! Examples: Maybe Lexa HATES her neighbor Clarke, who always seems to wake her up in the middle of the night because she apparently can’t paint without listening to music. Maybe Clarke is Lexa’s best friend Clarke HATES her neighbor that always seems to throw rowdy parties, and she lets her know that (and later, makes the horrifying discovery that this woman, Lexa, is not even the actual neighbor; it’s Lexa’s sister, Anya). Maybe Clarke and Lexa are work friends until Lexa’s given a promotion that Clarke deserved, and now she hates her. Maybe they’re allies in a war until Lexa takes a deal and leaves Clarke to dry. Maybe Lexa hates Clarke, who broke her best friend’s heart - except then she realize Clarke is actually super nice and they’re friends now and maaaaybe Lexa looks at her lips too much.
Day 6: Saturday, March 4th - Workplace Romance
Clexa at work! Examples: Are they rival farmers? Are they firefighters who can’t keep their cool around each other? Do they both contribute at the local farmer’s market and their stalls are right next to each other but they’re both too useless to actually make a move? Does Clarke get hired to paint a mural in Lexa’s cafe? Is Clarke an ER doctor and Lexa the cute EMT that picks terrible times to flirt with her? Are they coworkers at some company kept vague bc all we’re focusing on is the opportunities that await us once all the items have been swept off the desk?
Day 7: Sunday, March 5th - Free Day
For free day, you can do anything you want. You can choose a theme that didn’t win. You can even use it as an Update Your WIP day!
—
Here are the guidelines for participating.
I posted this on November 11th; we have exactly 3 months and 17 days until Clexaweek23! :)
(Or the 80s rival TV newscasters AU no one asked for…)
It’s 1987, and Lexa Woods is a serious, austere news anchor, always delivering the news with smooth, measured gravitas. Nicknamed “the perfumed menace” she’s renowned for being a tough and exacting interviewer, a household name with the plaudits to back it up. Meanwhile, Clarke Griffin is a plucky reporter on the ground with a megawatt smile and disarming manner, who’s carved a niche for herself with frivolous, crowd-pleasing fluff pieces and lighthearted human-interest/animal segments. Lexa doesn’t hide her disdain for the rival outlet’s content and tone, yet it consistently beats her own channel in the ratings, to her supreme annoyance.
So she’s furious and indignant when station manager Indra tells her they’re poaching Clarke from their competitor.
“I won a Peabody for my coverage of the opioid crisis in Mount Weather!”
Lexa’s rant gathers steam.
“We’re a respected news source. This,” she gestures at the freeze frame of Clarke reporting from a feline beauty pageant, “is not news.”
Lexa stabs a finger in the air, oblivious to Indra’s subtle eye roll.
“I won’t stand here and watch my reputation for high-minded broadcast journalism be washed down the drain. I’ll walk.”
She also learns they plan to bring in a male anchorman, some eye candy for the housewives. The focus groups find Lexa too severe and haughty.
“I’m the anchor. No one reads the news but me.”
“Well,” Indra tells her firmly. “Things have to change or there won’t be a show to anchor. Would you prefer they take us off the air entirely and replace us with compilations of idiotic home video mishaps? They’re cheap and everybody loves them.” (The “unlike you” goes unsaid). “I’ve heard grumblings from the board.”
Lexa stares, aghast at the notion.
It takes a lot of placating to calm her down, vague promises of a primetime special on a hard-hitting topic of her choosing.
When she’s introduced to Clarke the following week, Lexa is frosty, aloof, giving the cold shoulder. Later that day, they butt heads during a pitch meeting. Lexa dismisses Clarke’s ideas, leaving her fuming, and everyone else stepping on eggshells.
Record scratch cut to Lexa’s dressing room...
Clarke kisses her hard, nipping sharply at Lexa’s bottom lip, an undercurrent of rebuke in her voice when she tells Lexa, “You could dial it down a notch, you know? For someone who wants to get under my skirt, you could stand to be a lot nicer.”
Lexa soothes Clarke by trailing kisses along her jaw to that spot behind her ear that makes her knees buckle slightly. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
She sucks a kiss at the top of Clarke’s neck. The pressure light, not enough to leave a mark, conscious of how that might reflect poorly on Clarke, professionally speaking. Half the station already thinks she’s a ditzy airhead (a false impression that Lexa did nothing to discourage, she acknowledges to herself with a tiny stab of guilt), and a visible hickey would only provide more fodder for snide gossip.
“Anya was in the room and I overcompensated. She’s too savvy not to be suspicious of me suddenly singing your praises.”
“Oh, yeah?” Clarke hoists an eyebrow as she leans back, out of range of Lexa’s roving mouth. “Been trash talking me to your producer?”
Lexa‘s throat bobs. “I… might have expressed some strong reservations about the new editorial direction.” For some reason her mouth keeps moving and words, the wrong ones, keep spilling forth, as though she isn’t actually someone who’s built a storied career on being an excellent communicator. “I’m just not convinced by the pivot from hard news to a magazine format, or that our two styles will successfully mesh.”
Her heart plummets as Clarke pulls away and starts to tuck in her blouse. “Well, you definitely won’t be meshing with me now.”
“Clarke, wait. Come on, can’t we talk—”
“No. You’re such an ass, Lexa. Beautiful, sexy beyond belief, but an ass all the same.” Clarke strides across the room, ignoring Lexa’s pleas, and lays her hand on the doorknob. Pauses to look over her shoulder, not fully able to mask the hurt and betrayal in her expression. “Let’s just do one another a favour and stay out of each other’s way, alright? And a word of warning: don’t try to get me fired. I will lawyer up and sue this station into oblivion.”
“I—”
Lexa stares at the empty doorway, bewildered at how a sizzling secret makeout session went so far off the rails so quickly, and left wondering how she can possibly repair the damage.
THE LOST QUEEN UPDATE ➼ Queen Clarke is forced to flee into the woods after a coup dethrones her. When she comes out on the other side, four hundred years have passed without her aging a day. For two years she adapts as best as she can to the modern world, but everything changes when she wanders into a museum exhibition on herself and meets the tour guide infatuated with the Lost Queen.
